


love me like it's the last night

by venomedveins



Series: of magic & monsters [14]
Category: Spartacus Series (TV)
Genre: Babies, Battling, Blood, F/F, F/M, Games, Gore, Graphic Violence, M/M, Magic, Mpreg, Multi, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-24
Updated: 2016-10-24
Packaged: 2018-08-24 09:08:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 32,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8366503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/venomedveins/pseuds/venomedveins
Summary: Agron and Nasir flourish as kings upon the Alptraum throne, but dark forces finally come to light.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Holy hell, this chapter is huge. 70 pages and I had to cut stuff to put in the next chapter! We are so close to being done and it has been a crazy ride. As always, thank you to everyone who reads this fic and supports me. You are amazing. And thank you to habibinasir. Without her, none of this would be possible.

“Do you want someone else to try?” 

Mika presses a sweet smelling rag against Lido's temples, spreading the lilac and sage oil over his forehead. They’ve set up camp under a large weeping willow, the branches thick enough to hide them from any sort of detection. Still, the hour grows later and they are still very far from their goal. Lido looks serene, chest rising and falling slowly almost as if he’s sleeping, a shimmer of gold trailing from his navel to the thin bones of his clavicle. He’s laying back on a thick blanket, the edges surrounded by large, white pillar candles that flicker gold and then red. Something buzzes around them, the sharp electricity of magic 

“You are exhausting yourself, brother.” Jem curls a flame around his fingers, using it to light a small cone of incense. They’re kneeling at Lido’s shoulders, faces grim as they share a look, both twins fanning the smoke over their brother’s body. It should strengthen him, but it’s rudimentary and old magic. 

"We must reach him. We are running out of time." Lido mutters, hands sliding over his forehead, pushing his sweaty hair back. He looks exhausted, eyes bloodshot and watery as he settles down onto the blanket again. "Send me back in."

"Perhaps Nasir has spelled his mind to be protected," Mika tries again, leaning over Lido so he can implore down at him. "Or it's his magic. We know nothing of the Alptraum. Just what is in books. You could be attempting something that is impossible."

"The threat is growing. I can feel it burning at the back of my throat. Every moment we waste, Nasir is closer to being over taken by Ashur. I’ve reached his husband before. I just have to get him to trust me," Lido hisses, squaring his shoulders down. "Send me back in."

Mika and Jem share a look, hands clasped over Lido's chest, hesitating to act. They can feel their brother's power flickering, the strength of his magic stretched thin and weakened by trying to break into Agron's mind. It is a strong magic, one that has been woven stronger by Nasir and Agron’s passions. They do not know if the spell they are attempting will be strong enough to force its way through that bond. Still, Lido is correct in his fear that they are running out of time. 

"Sator and Noctifer shade eyes and strengthen heart," Mika and Jem chant in unison, fingers settling along the sharp ridges of Lido's ribs. "Open gates of sacred ground. Split passion's heavy sky. Let the enflamed cup overflow."

Lido's eyes flicker closed and then open, the color drained except for two murky pools of gold that ripple and swirl as if the tide. There are no pupils, no iris of dark brown. He is lost in magic now, falling deeper and deeper into Agron's and Nasir's sacred dream place. His mouth trembles around silent words, a conversation lost to the audience. It seems he will almost be successful, lips parting on a sigh, when suddenly, he's present again, the liquid of his eyes clearing once more. 

"Fuck!" Lido hisses, sitting up and sliding his elegant fingers into the tangles of his hair. "Fuck this!"

"What's wrong?" Ariadne appears from nowhere, pressing a small cup of wine into Lido's hand and gently stroking along his back. He does not recoil from her touch, but leans into it, curling his body along the length of hers. 

"He rejects me! Every fucking time. I appear before him in field and he flings me from his sight." Lido cups his hands over his eyes, rubbing at them as if small child. Carefully, Ariadne draws his hands into her lap, taking another rag and mopping at his face. “He will not allow me in.”

"You are stretching yourself too thin. You are too far away from our home, our healing crystals." Ariadne whispers, harsh but true, as she shakes the curls from her face. "We cannot hope to succeed in locating your brother if his husband does not want us in his dreams."

"You've reached him before though," Mika encourages. Beside him, Jem does not seem as certain. "There must be something else-"

"I cannot reach him. I've tried over and over. He does not know me so he pushes me away. He calls only for Nasir and as soon as he sees me, he refuses. He even tried to shift into a wolf," Lido leans into Ariadne's gentle hands, trying to regain his breath. There is sweaty now beading on his chest and neck, a small droplet of it curling over his cheek.

"You must try again-" Jem presses, leaning forward. He's cut off by Ariadne's swift rebuttal, gritting through her teeth. 

"His magic is too weak. All will be lost!"

"Perhaps not." From the side, Kalmar finally raises his head from where he's been examining a small cluster of flowers on the forest floor, a few fairies dancing among the stems. They are pale blue, skirts made of the soft curl of newly budded roses. Kalmar has been less than helpful, observing until now. "You said he pushes you away because he doesn't know you. Then appear as if someone he knows."

"You would have me-" Lido suddenly looks down and away from his brothers, attempting to hide the flush to his cheeks. “I cannot do that.”

"You do not have to embody him," Kalmar scoffs, thick and judging, "Just have Nasir appear before him and then get the information we seek."

"Brother, I do not think-" Lido tries to speak again, cut off as the twins lean forward. 

"We shall combine magic, Lido. We'll all lend you our strength, and if this plan does not work, we will seek out another way." Mika reaches to curl a strand of Lido’s hair around his fingers. “We are out of options. It is a small betrayal if it results in the saving of our world.”

“Besides,” Jem adds on, nodding encouragingly, “we are only trespassers in the dream. He will create him, give himself what he wants to see. We will just appear and add to his dream.”

“I do not like this.” Lido stresses, slowly sinking back down onto the blanket again. Ariadne doesn’t move from his side, instead linking their fingers together, staying close and smiling encouragingly. She doesn’t understand all that is going on, but she refuses to leave Lido’s side. 

The dream this time is different. Instead of being set in the grassy field, they are inside the large temple, the walls shimmering gold from the thick, chained lamps dangling above. Incense burn thick plums of sandalwood and fir, flowers and vines twisting and moving around on the marbled ceiling. The decadence of the place is rich with something else though, a thickness that settles into the air, the heat slicking skin and rising from the very ground. 

Red petals float along the water of the large pool, spinning and lapping over the gold water. They lap at Agron’s bare skin, clinging to his chest as he leans back on his arms along one side. Here, in this sacred place, he can let the worries of the day and the present melt away from him. All that matters is the soft caress of water against him, tilting his head back to watch the small bursts of flora above. 

Slowly, a hand slips out from the grip of the water, sliding along the ridges of Agron’s stomach, snaking higher as a figure begins to emerge. Nasir's eyes are dark, wet hair curling around his shoulders and down. Strands of crystals and chains are woven like a crown across his forehead, the affect indulgent and decadent, a royal king decked out in jewels. Nasir licks his lips as he moves higher, dragging his body along Agron's, grinding down against him. The water allows for the ease of the motion, Nasir's legs tangling with Agron's before hooking one thigh around his waist. 

Their mouths meet hard and needy; Agron’s hand curling in the back of Nasir’s hair and tilting his head to the side. It deepens the kiss, tongues pressing quick and harsh against one another. They’re insatiable, hands tracing over skin and down below the water, grinding hips against thighs. Nasir’s pants turning into a low moan as Agron slides his hand over Nasir’s ass, pulling him closer. 

“How did we sink so far into dreams? Were we not just within our rooms?” Agron asks, tilting his head back against the side of the bath as Nasir licks a path down his neck, nibbling at the long slope of his shoulder. 

“Magic has no reason, only driven by passions beyond our control,” Nasir answers, grinning up at Agron. The lights reflect off his eyes, no flickering of flames or vines here, just the long spans of his back flickering light against the water. Nasir’s shoulders are wet, petals clinging to him, filling Agron’s every breath with cinnamon and flora. He ducks his head long enough to lap across Agron’s pec, pressing teeth to his nipple in a quick bite.

“I don’t understand. We agreed not to do this. Neither of us can hear the rest of the world if we are here.” Agron pushes Nasir back from him so he can meet his husband’s eyes, growling when Nasir’s teeth drag across his chest. He is vicious tonight, biting and hissing, undeterred. Still, Nasir looks half drunk, mouth bruised and eyes restless as he keeps his hand caressing along Agron’s chest and shoulders, then down to circle his cock. 

“Do you not want me? It has been so long since we’ve been alone.” Nasir pouts a little, pausing his ministrations just long enough to meet Agron’s gaze. He does it coyly, looking up through his eyelashes in an expression that always works.

“I always do.” 

Agron is quick to pull Nasir back to him, gripping the side of his face and kissing him slow and wet. He can leave his questions for later, the creeping feeling that there is something off about this. Agron cannot place it though. He’s lost in the frenzy of it, the sharp press of Nasir’s teeth against his tongue, the way his body presses along the length of Agron’s, thighs thick around Agron’s waist. Nasir is one hot line, burning Agron up from the inside out. He cannot think nor breathe, can only touch and taste. 

“Don’t you want us?”

From the water, other figures begin to emerge. Tan skin and even darker eyes, two identical men press against Agron’s sides, stroking heavily ringed hands over his chest, leaning in to press sweet and gentle kisses against the sides of his throat. Agron knows he should know them, should recognize them, but the smoke billowing from the lamps is starting to make his head swim and all he cares about is the man before him. He can still see Nasir, watches as he presses a series of kisses to Agron’s stomach, rising up to claim his mouth again. Agron gives over, bites and sucks when he can, tries not to get lost in the feeling of the extra bodies pressing down against him.

Another set of hands ease over his shoulders, the person not in the water but sitting on the pool’s edge, dripping gold from his hair and thin, translucent clothing. He’s the man from before, the one that has visited Agron before, has tried to whisper to him. Agron has never been able to figure out the man’s name, instead tilts his head back as the man leans forward, dragging his nose against Agron’s ear. 

“Tell me where you are." The man eases his fingers through Agron's hair, caressing him gently. “Where are you Wolf King? Where have you taken Nasir?”

"What?" Agron pulls back for just a moment from kissing Nasir, mouth bruised and flushed. He's dragged back though, arms wrapped around Nasir's waist. 

"Where are you?" The man whispers again. “I want to help you.”

The twins share a kiss across Agron’s chest, hands wandering away from Agron’s skin for a moment to touch each other. Nasir watches them with keen eyes before smirking up at Agron, pushing the other two apart to reach his husband again. He’s needier now, desperate with his fingers curling at the base of Agron’s neck, rocking his body down against Agron’s. The whole room feels stifling, too many hands and legs and lips against him. 

“Let me help you.” The man above him whispers, not touching him but attempting to draw Agron’s attention again. “Where have you hidden?”

A creeping feeling begins to grow in Agron's chest, a suspicion that this isn't right. This is Nasir before him, but he feels different, tastes different. Even the way he kisses seems right but there is something off. It’s as if Agron has dreamed a version of him that isn’t complete, something a little hazy around the corners. It would not be the first time that Agron has dreamed Nasir, but like this? Who are these other men surrounding him? 

“Nasir,” Agron drags his teeth across Nasir’s bottom lip, still attempting to break free. “Where’s Malik?”

“What?” Nasir doesn’t open his eyes, leans down to bite a kiss into Agron’s jaw. 

“Where is Malik?” Agron ignores the long haired man hissing into his ear, the soft bites and the probing questions over and over. He wants to know where Agron is. The twins are more interested in watching each other, tongues sliding over the tendons of Agron’s neck, fingers lacing on Nasir’s spine. 

“Why do you ask questions?” Nasir mutters, disinterested as he strokes his fingers down Agron’s chest again. “Who even is this man that you ask for? Am I not enough for you?” He moves to kiss Agron again, abruptly halted by Agron’s hand around his wrist. 

“Who is Malik? You do not know?” Agron asks, brow furrowing. It only takes a moment, a flicker of Nasir’s expression from neutral to confused for Agron to know the truth. 

“This isn’t real. I’m dreaming.” 

He finds his footing in the bottom of the pool, raising up and shaking the men off of him with a quick roll of his arms. The others scatter, hissing and water falling off of smooth tan skin. They’re beautiful and deadly, sinking back into the gold. None of it compares to Nasir’s startled cry, toppling back into the water with a whimper. He only gets a moment to take it in, to be horrified, before the whole temple crumbles together. 

Lido, Mika, and Jem surge forward on the blanket, coughing water out of their mouth and swearing. They’re all painted in gold, a series of scratches down Mika’s forearm from Agron’s stray claws when he stood. The brothers fall apart from one another, groaning and trying to regain reality once more. 

“Such a fucking nightmare,” Jem mutters, standing on shaking legs to shed his cloak. “What a waste of time!”

“We’ve failed again, brothers.” Lido wipes at his damp face with his hands, grimacing when they come away streaked with glitter. “And for what? Did we really think that trying to fuck him would get the answers out of him?”

“We weren’t trying to fuck him,” Mika hisses, attempting to heal his own arm. “He provided Nasir and we followed after. It was his dream. Honestly, I was more interested in who this Malik person was.”

“Some servant probably that he keeps to entertain him when Nasir does not,” Jem answers, scowling at the very thought of their little brother being treated that way. 

“Regardless. We’ve failed.” Lido hangs his head, not being comforted by Ariadne’s arms around him. 

“Perhaps not.” Kalmar is sitting on a tree stump nearby, a fairy dancing along the ridges of his knuckles. This one is lilac with a crown of lights dancing around her long indigo hair. “While you all were busy trying to seduce the man and swim around him naked, I got the location of their castle. We leave at day break.”

“How?” Lido demands, turning glaring eyes towards his younger brother. 

“By asking someone who watched them walk past,” Kalmar motions towards the small fairy in his hand. “She knows where they went and will show us.”

\- - - 

Agron wakes to the feeling of cold sweat slowly rolling down his back, goosebumps slipping over his arms, his chest heaving. He tries to center himself, remember his training with Spartacus on finding the familiar. More harm can come from reaching too rash when first awakening. It comes to him slowly, the soft caress of fur against his legs, down feather pillows and silk fabric against his cheek. There is the sound of the fire burning across the room, low but still crackling. Somewhere in the room a candle has blown out, the wax nearly cool on the wooden table.

Flexing his fingers, Agron works his way through his body. He’s lying on his back, right arm tucked under his pillow and his left asleep, wrapped around a warm press of skin. Curled up against him, Nasir softly snores into Agron's chest, body flush along his side, still slightly sweaty from their previous activities. Agron can feel Nasir’s stomach moving when he exhales, the way his ankle is slightly twitching against Agron’s calf. It’s a constant, a grounding that he focuses on, feels and recognizes the familiarity of it. Tilting his head down, Agron watches Nasir’s mouth twitch, nuzzling down against Agron’s pec before sighing and he knows that this is real. 

Agron focuses on outside of the room next, listens to see if the rest of the suite is still quiet. Malik is asleep in the nursery, curled on his stomach with a blanket around his legs. The mobile above him is slowly spinning still, Malik suckling on the edge of his fist. Agron can hear his tiny heartbeat, the slow rise of his chest. Something clenches warm and soft when he listens to his son’s quiet breath, the knowledge that Malik is safe and warm, and that Agron has never loved anything the way he loves his son. 

Throughout the apartment, Agron can also pinpoint the others, has slept in these rooms long enough to know who lives among them. Though their houses started large, it did not take the royal couple long to realize that Laeta had been over zealous in choosing their servants. Nasir and Agron, though they hate to admit it, cannot help being paranoid about who surrounds their family, and thus they cut the number of servants in half. 

Chadara and Diona are sharing a bed in Chadara’s room, entwined together and breath labored. Agron isn’t familiar enough with them to recognize anything else, but their scent is mixed in a way that Agron is quick to pull his senses back. He doesn’t know if Nasir knows about this new development, but Agron doubts Nasir will be upset about the women becoming more intimate. 

Across the main room, Pietros, Barca, and Duro are tangled in a mess of pillows and blankets on Pietros’ floor. Someone has spilt wine, the smell pungent and sharp as it slowly dries on the rug by the fire. It shouldn’t annoy Agron the way it does. Agron knows it's going to be a mess in the morning, a frivolous thing that he's going to glare at Duro about later. Still, a dark part of Agron is jealous of their carelessness, of the easy way they have sank into a pleasure and ignorance after the announcement that Agron gives his permission for them to wed. He wishes that Nasir and him had time to do such, that they could have had a courting period that involved that careless, lustful inclinations of people in love and blind to the responsibility around them. 

Reassured that everyone is where they should be, Agron tries to settle back and calm his still racing heart. The dream had been vivid, wrong in its rightness, and Agron doesn’t know why it leaves a metallic and bitter taste in his mouth. He wants to forget it though, sink back into dreamlessness. Nasir has rolled over the opposite way, and Agron settles down against his back, wrapping his arm around Nasir's waist. It’s a simple comfort, the feeling of his husband’s body perfectly cocooned in Agron’s arms, focusing once again on Nasir’s steady breath. It almost works, Agron feeling the slow pulls of sleep, when something grabs his attention. 

It starts as a tickle at the back of Agron's mind, a slow firing of his instincts that something is wrong. He can’t place it, goosebumps crawling over his arms, the fangs in his mouth prickling and growing. Slowly, a cold, creeping feeling starts to make its way along Agron's spine, coiling sick in his gut. Cold sweat collects along his brow, body instinctively curling closer and over Nasir’s body, his claws involuntarily sliding out into sharp points. Any exhaustion leaves him, hyper aware of every sound within the apartments, even down to the soft rustling of the wind against the balcony doors. 

Agron needs to get up, needs to find the source of what is causing all of his instincts to flare, but he can’t move. For the first time in Agron’s life, he’s petrified. He can’t stay where he is though. There are too many people around, too many that he loves, to ignore what is going on. Slowly, barely breathing in his movements, Agron slides out from behind Nasir. He keeps his movements calm as to not wake the man before him, padding barefoot and naked across the floor to the nursery. 

Malik is as Agron heard, still lost in dreams and gumming at his tiny fist. Apep raises his head when Agron enters, glassy eyes reflection white gold for a moment from the light of the fire. He doesn’t make a sound, long body curled around Malik’s arm, resting his head on Malik’s tiny chest. Agron doesn’t bother to untangle them, reaches into the cradle and lifts them both into his arms. Usually, Apep is not fond of Agron and slithers away with a glare and a hiss any time he gets too close. This time though, the snake stays silent, black eyes watching as Agron carries them both back into the master bedroom. 

Nestling Malik down in the curve of Nasir’s body, Agron makes sure he doesn’t wake before turning and yanking his pants off the settee in the corner. The fear has melted away a little to tension, the type that twists his shoulders back, eyes glowing as he inches towards the master bedroom doors. He eases them open, careful of the way the heavy hinges squeak, getting them open enough to look out.

The breath is cut from Agron's lungs; the feeling of dread once again surrounding him and choking. He does not understand it, doesn’t The main suite is brighter than the bedrooms, the hearth alight with a blazing fire. It crackles and pops, sending plumes of smoke into the air. It is not the familiar scent of cedar and pine though, but instead is mixed with something else, the burning scent of flesh. 

Easing out of the door, Agron can see clearly that is Ashur kneeling there, a small cloth of laid out before him covered in small, glinting tools. In his hands, he's clutching a small bat, the animal dead and still as Ashur eases out blood from a wound in its abdomen. The red carnage splatters in the flames, sparking a deep amber color before fizzling out to black. He seems to be muttering something over it all in a language that Agron does not recognize, words slick and conjoined.

Ashur places the bat into a small felt bag, tying the ends of it with a silver ribbon before tossing the whole thing in the flames. It bursts forward with another plume of smoke. This time, the cloud surrounds Ashur, circling around his face and hands in a small whirlwind. It doesn’t settle until Ashur opens his mouth, breathing in the fumes. 

“What the fuck are you doing?” 

Agron doesn’t think, a sickly rage fester hot in the center of his chest, moving out towards the center of the room. This isn’t magic he’s seen before, this slaughter and darkness. Even when Nasir had murdered the vampires in defense of Agron, it did not feel like this. 

“Highness.” When Ashur turns, there is a line of black soot down the length of his nose, across his lips, and onto his chin. “You should be sleeping.”

“What the fuck are you doing?” Agron repeats, hands clenching into fists. He can feel the hair at the back of his neck starting to grow, the wolf inside of him bursting forward before Agron can catch it. He’s so close to changing he can even feel his bones ache for it. Worst of all, Agron remembers this feeling. Can still taste the acid on the back of his tongue, memory of this sort of dark magic.

“You would not fault a man for praying, would you?” Ashur asks, raising a slow eyebrow. “A man must find peace with his gods.”

“What is your fucking game?” Agron snarls, has drawn blood on his bottom lip from where his fangs drag slow and deep. “I will not ask you again.”

“Game?” Ashur looks genuinely surprised, using the edge of his cloak to rub the long black line from his face. “Agron, after all this time, I had hoped you would have realized that I am here for no other reason than the fact that Nasir is here. I only long to be as near to my brother as possible.”

“I don’t fucking believe you.” Agron can feel cooling breath of dread again settling into his stomach, his breath sharp and stabbing.

“It does not matter if you believe me.” Ashur’s face melts into that knowing grin, the smirk of holding some hidden truth. “All that matters is that Nasir does.” 

Agron doesn’t think, doesn’t pause to reflect upon the ramifications of his actions. Instead, he charges across the plush carpet, large hand wrapping around Ashur’s throat and slamming him back against the mantle. The tools that he had been kneeling in front of scatter until Agron’s bare feet, growling into Ashur’s face. He doesn’t try to hold the wolf back, claws digging into the thin flesh over Ashur’s throat. 

“You toe a dangerous fucking line, you vampire shit,” Agron growls, giant shoulders heaving as he slowly drags Ashur up the wall. 

“I-I-I-“ Ashur chokes, fingers scrambling on the fireplace, knocking a few trinkets to the floor. 

“The only reason you still fucking breathe is because Nasir asked me to protect you,” Agron leans forward, can feel Ashur’s staccato exhales against his face. “I should have skinned you on sight.”

Ashur cannot speak but he can pull his head back, lips pursed as spit splatters across the bridge of Agron’s nose and onto his cheek. Any other time, Agron would just twist his wrist and snap Ashur’s neck, but there is something else. It’s dark in the room already, the fire below them, but Agron sees the darkness bleed through Ashur’s eyes, the swimming black. The bite mark in his thigh burns, the memory of Caesar’s fangs, his laughter, the wild expression when Agron had felt the blood leave him – it festers there, in the pit of Ashur’s dark eyes. The fear that fills Agron is a memory, an unshakeable chill that freezes Agron’s own breath.

“See and remember,” Ashur chokes out, smirk dashing across his face. 

“Agron! What are you doing?” From behind him, Pietros hisses the words in a desperate whisper, leaning out of the door of his room. He reeks of Duro, and Agron can tell half shifted like this, that his brother’s seed is still deep inside him. 

“Fucking tell me your plan,” Agron pulls Ashur forward just to shove him back against the wall again. He does not have time to be distracted.

“I don’t know what happened, but you have to think of what you’re doing. If you’re going to do this, fuck,” Pietros’ hand is out stretched, not touching yet, fearful of pressing his palm to Agron’s bare shoulder. “I want you to kill him too, but Nasir-“

“I am tired of your fucking slinking and plotting in the dark. Weaving your words and your fucking poisonous tongue so that Nasir will believe your lies. I do not buy your bullshit story for a moment,” Agron growls in Ashur’s face, can feel his own spittle leaving his fangs. “Tell me your plan or see your words ripped from your fucking throat.”

“You’re out of time.” Ashur’s heels scramble against the wood just as footsteps approach the master bedroom doors, a choking laugh reverberating through his chest.

Agron turns just in time to see a thick vine wrap around the doorknobs, latching them together. Pietros has turned towards it, teeth gritted together from the magic that surges through him, curls the vine over and over and over itself. From the other side, Nasir shakes the door, rattling the metal against one another. When it doesn’t come part, he calls out, voice soft but confused. 

“Agron? What’s going on? Open the door.”

Pietros is halfway between the door and the other men, posed with big eyes and grimace. The quiet desperation in Nasir’s voice peaks a little louder as he rattles the door away, obviously trying to stay quiet for the sake of the others in the room. Pietros knows what would have happened had he let Nasir come out and join them though, the horror and betrayal, Nasir’s blind love for Ashur clouding his obvious judgement. 

“Agron?” Pietros whispers, only able to twist his magic for so long. If Nasir pushes his own against the vine, it will snap. “I stand beside my king, but think-“ He does not finish the line, unable to as Nasir shakes the door harder. 

“Let me out!”

He doesn’t move when Agron slowly lowers Ashur back to the ground, leaning forward until their noses brush. From this distance, he can hear the words that are snarled down at the other man, no human left in Agron’s voice. 

“You would do well to make yourself scarce. There are many dark places in this castle and many guards that are willing to turn blind eye towards their king.”

“But Nasir-“

“Is of my concern, not yours.” Agron’s teeth snap together. “Now get out of my fucking sight.”

Ashur is quick to scurry back to his room, closing the door with an audible snap. Without him in the room, it feels as if the shadows grow deeper in the corners, the air oppressive and thick. Agron does not linger on it though, points Pietros back towards his bedroom as he moves towards his own, unwrapping the vines carefully. The moment they are free, the doors swing open, nearly crashing into Agron’s face but he manages to catch them, stopping Nasir short. 

“Hey,” Agron can feel himself shaking, the goosebumps still all over his arms, but he pulls a smile across his face, faking his way through it.

“What is going on? Why did you lock me in here?” Nasir is holding one of the blankets to his chest, the fur heavy as he it drapes around his waist. Behind him, the bed is empty but he’s left the door to the nursery wide open, and Agron can hear that Malik is in his crib, Apep still beside him.

“I must have accidently slipped the lock into place when I pulled the door shut,” Agron shrugs a shoulder, attempting to look careless and flippant. He doesn’t like lying to Nasir. In fact, for the length of their marriage, Agron has only lied to him a few times, and they all were quickly revealed anyways. Still, Agron cannot risk Nasir finding out what just happened. They’ve just gotten over one fight, and Agron will not see them dissolve into another. 

“I didn’t know they lock from outside.” Nasir leans around Agron, attempting to spy into the room behind him, but he’s efficiently blocked by one of Agron’s shoulders. 

“Safety precaution.” Agron leans forward, kissing Nasir’s forehead. The touch is a reassurance to both of them; Agron’s hands warm on Nasir’s bare shoulders. “Nothing to worry about.”

“I thought I heard voices,” Nasir says, suspicion waning as he accepts another kiss to his temple, Agron gently pushing them back into the bedroom. He doesn’t take his eyes off his husband though, even when Agron pulls the doors shut.

“I went to check on the guards.” Unlacing his pants, Agron strips them off, tossing them carelessly over the back of a chair. “Paranoid king and all. Come, let’s go back to sleep. I am too fucking tired to be standing right now.”

Whatever Nasir’s response would have been gets lost in his throat, staring over at Agron, naked and proud in the center of the room. There is nothing vulnerable or open about this stance, no, this is the one made for kings. He doesn’t seem affected by his own nudity, thick shoulders rolled back as he motions with one hand towards the large bed. Nasir finds himself unable to do anything but comply, awed by the easy way that Agron can fill a room, the cut of his powerful body, the grace of him as he climbs into the bed after Nasir. 

“Goodnight.” Rolling onto his side, Nasir faces towards the nursery, settles down with Agron curled along his back. 

“Goodnight, my love.” Agron rumbles, kissing Nasir’s cheek. He does not know if he will find slumber again, the combination of his dreams and Ashur’s continual lurking making it feel impossible, but he can still lay here, curled and protecting Nasir, even if he doesn’t know what from. 

\- - - 

Auctus doesn't know when he fell into this comfortable lifestyle, that one that allows quiet moments such as these. One minute, it seems, he had been nothing more than a soldier - a royal body guard. Sure, he was tasked with the care and concern of one of the royal princes, but Auctus had never been shown any special attention. He was a good fighter, skilled and excelled against those that tried to test his power, but he was no Crixus, no Spartacus. Auctus skirted along the needed and the forgettable. 

Barca and Duro are playing some game at the small table by the bay window; it's complicated with cards and chips and dice. Every few moments, Duro will throw his head back and laugh, curls bouncing as the sunlight skirts through the strands. Barca watches him fond, taps his long fingers against Duro's wrist, wrestling cards from his sleeves, saying something that has Duro dissolving into more giggles. They look ethereal in the morning rays, two icons moving within their golden frame. 

Pietros slides his hands down Auctus' chest from behind, leaning over the back of the couch. His hair is still damp, smelling like citrus and honey, the curl of his earing pressing against Auctus' cheek. They stay like that for a moment, absorbing the warmth from where their skin touches. 

"What are we going to do today?" Duro calls out. He's carelessly sprawled back in his chair, all youthful arrogance of someone born with privilege and the weight of nothing on his chest. Auctus thinks for just a moment, a single dark cloud, of how Agron never sits that way. 

"We have the games," Barca supplies, "and then you have a list of royal duties, including going to meet with your favorite swamp princess."

"Fuck the gods." Duro curses. He's taken a chip off the table, rubbing it between his fingertips, fumbling it until it lands on the carpet. “Someone else pretend to be me and go visit with her.”

“Now now,” Barca pats Duro’s wrist again, “your brother and Nasir have been doing all the royal duties lately. Meeting dignitaries and representatives. The least you can do is go play nice with your bog wife.”

“She’s not my fucking wife,” Duro grimaces, smacking away Barca’s hand, “and it’s Agron and Nasir’s job to play nice with all the other royals. I’m just supposed to show up to shit and not embarrass anyone, remember?”

“Considering that yesterday, King Rastul called Nasir a child king and then your nephew illegitimate if the person that bore him wasn’t old enough to be called a man," Auctus grimaces, "I think you can help out a little."

"The fucking cyclops king called him a child?" Duro's eyes widen comically, clasping his hands. "Oh man, was Agron fucking pissed? Tell me he finally beat the shit out of him."

"He wasn't there, but I imagine so when he found out later. King Rastul had not tact." Auctus replies. He had been there when it happened, King Rastul throwing his head back and laughing when Nasir had politely told him that he _was_ the consort and that Malik was the crowned prince. Nasir hadn't lost his temper, but Auctus had seen the flames lick up his arms when the king had made a crude joke about Agron's taste in little men. 

"Shit." Duro shakes his head, the amusement from a moment ago slowly slipping from him. "It's been a long time since I've seen Agron truly lose his temper."

"Lucky you," Pietros mutters, yawning as he shifts behind Auctus. Instead of walking around the couch, he just climbs over the back of it, curling up on his side until he can rest his head in Auctus' lap. 

“Long night?” Auctus strokes along his forehead, down across his cheek. It’s a move that he’s learned soothes the other, relaxes the small furrow between his eyebrows. 

Sighing put upon, Pietros rubs his heavily ringed hands over his face. He’s taken to sleeping in Duro’s rooms mostly now, though there are times when he stays in his own if Nasir needs him. Last night was one of those times. Auctus had been on guard duty downstairs, stuck in the main entrance, and so he had only returned to the room with the sunrise. He knows that Nasir asked him to stay though, had watched them whispering to one another at dinner. 

Nasir and Pietros together are something other worldly. They weave between Alptraum, the common tongue, and Pythonissan, laughing about jokes that have their origin buried in years past. It isn’t just the royal house that is mesmerized by them though. It’s the whole kingdom. Auctus has seen it, has seen the eyes follow them down halls, has seen the whispered longing, the yearning to be closer to them. Auctus had watched them across the length of the banquet table, heads bent together and flickers of light between, magic mingling, and felt it too. 

"You could say that." Pietros mutters. He doesn't get a chance to elaborate as there is a quick, abrupt knock on the door. The guard opens it a moment later, Diona leading another servant into the room. 

The man behind her is young, pointed chin and closely shaven head highlighting the small, moon white horns growing from his crown. He's dressed in the bright colors of the Taurant people, a sash of royal purple and bronze around his waist. In his small hands, he's carrying a huge vase filled with golden wheat. Silently, he places it down on the coffee table before Pietros, bowing low. 

"Saxon is a member of the royal house of Taurant and was sent here to deliver a message." Diona announces, kindly pushing the boy forward when he hesitates. He's no older than sixteen, pretty in his youth, the strain of puberty not yet hardened him. 

"P-Prince Helio," Saxon stutters, flushing before squaring his shoulders, meeting Auctus' gaze straight forward. "Prince Helio sends these for Lord Pietros as a token of his affection and an invitation for him to attend the games this afternoon."

"What?" Pietros pulls his palms away from his eyes, looking over at the boy. Saxon looks confused too, eyes slipping from Auctus' bemused expression down to where Pietros is still laying in his lap. 

“The bouquet is for Lord Pietros.” Saxon’s eyes travel back to Auctus, and then down again when Auctus gently motions that he should be addressing the man sprawled across his lap. 

“It is very kind of him.” Pietros says slowly, staring over at the large mass of wispy stalks, “And unexpected.”

“He apologizes for not being able to deliver them himself, but his previous engagements would not allow him to.” Saxon shifts uncomfortably, gaze darting curiously around the room. He does not miss the easy way in which Auctus’ hands are curled against Pietros’ cheek; Pietros’ chest bare and smooth through the open lapels of his robe. “And how do you reply?”

“What?” Pietros feels dumb, confused by the heavy tone Saxon is using, raising an eyebrow at the youth.

"Pietros, Prince Helio sends you his favor," Barca answers this time, calling out from the table. "He wishes for you to attend the games by his invitation and offer him luck."

"I don't-" Pietros very slowly sits up, glancing between Auctus and Barca. This is not something he understands. Of course he will be attending the games, as all the other men in the room will be competing, plus he is needed to sit beside Nasir and help care for Malik. 

"Apologies but Prince Helio asked for your prompt answer," Saxon bows respectfully. When Pietros hesitates, the teen raises an eyebrow at him, "Perhaps a token of your own in reply?"

"Oh! Of course." Pietros glances around again, searching for something to reply with, before unwinding a long piece of fabric from his waist. It's more of a sash than anything else, a dark amber color with gold flecks woven into it. "Give this to Prince Helio and let him know that I wish him luck at the games and I will be attending."

The boy quickly bows again before leaving through the door, not even waiting for Diona to escort him. She hesitates behind, expression unreadable and brow furrowed, before shaking her head and exiting too. It's not until the guard shuts the door that Duro bursts into laughter again, nearly toppling from his perch. 

"What? What's so funny?" Pietros asks, standing to ghost his fingers over the soft hairs at the top of the wheat. They fill the large apartment with the smell of fresh bread and starch, warm and homey. “It’s a nice gesture.” 

"You do realize what you've done, right?" Duro asks between peals of laughter, wiping at his eyes. He’s laughed so hard that he’s knocked his crown off, the gold spinning on the floor.

"Helio is nice. We met at the banquet a few days ago and he offered to escort me back to my rooms later to make sure I was safe," Pietros shrugs innocently. "We are friends. He’s only a few years younger than me and was bored with talking to old men and women, I think."

This earns another shriek of laughter from Duro who actually falls off his chair, sprawling down on the plush carpet. He isn't the only one laughing though, Auctus barely containing his own chuckles behind the curve of his hand. He tries to kick at the prince, missing him by feet, commanding him to stop laughing but it only earns him more laughter from Duro’s wide open mouth. It seems they find the whole situation amusing while Pietros sits there confused, slowly turning angry. Barca bounces a chip off Duro forehead, pursing his lips in distaste as he moves over to Auctus and Pietros, sinking down onto the couch. 

"What Duro is trying to say and fucking failing," Barca says gently, reaching out to pull Pietros against his side, "is that Prince Helio sent you gifts and asked for your favor in the games to gauge if you were interested in courting."

"No." Pietros scoffs, shaking his head as he nuzzles down against Barca's side. "It's not like that."

"Wheat is a sign of fertility and romance in the Taurant culture." Barca explains, blatantly ignoring Auctus' snort. "It would appear that Prince Helio is not only asking for you to attend the games this afternoon to watch him fight, but also to win your favor."

"And you giving him your scarf basically is saying that you reciprocate his affections," Auctus adds in, still cheery but sobering a little at Pietros' shocked stare. “It’s just a misunderstanding.”

“And you all fucking sat there and let me do it?” Pietros shakes off Barca’s grasp on him, suddenly standing, “To make a fucking fool of myself for your own amusement?”

“We thought you knew,” Barca replies lightly, stretching his arms over the couch, “and that you thought it was a game.”

“Pietros,” Auctus tries to soothe, reaching out towards the other man, “It’s alright. We can make it better.”

“Better?” Reaching behind the couch, Pietros yanks his shoes out and roughly pulls them onto his feet. “I’m not some fucking toy that you get to watch and play with. How the fuck am I supposed to know these things? What the fucking minotaur thinks is flirting? I wasn’t born into this. I’m fucking trying to learn every day.”

“Don’t get mad,” Duro snags Pietros’ ankle, pulls him so he can lean his head against Pietros’ thigh, “It was funny and it’ll be even funnier when he realizes you’re engaged to all three of us.”

“Fuck you, Duro.” Pietros yanks away, making a frustrated growl when Duro won’t let go of the robe, simply slipping his arms from the sleeves and letting the fabric pool to the floor. “Fuck all of you.”

“Pietros! Come on! It was funny,” Auctus calls out too, trying to stand, but Pietros holds up a palm. 

“It might be funny to you, but making me look like an idiot isn’t funny to me.” Pietros snaps, turning on his heel and slamming the bedroom door. 

\- - - 

Stretched along the length of the foot of the bed, Agron lets the warm sunlight on his back sink into him, relaxed and calm. Nasir paints a beautiful portrait before him, dragging a thick towel down the length of his side and onto his flank, chasing water droplets off of smooth, tan skin. Agron had thought, long ago, that the fever he felt for Nasir would wane, that it would ebb the more they fell together. Agron had not calculated the desire he still feels, the hunger at the mere sight of Nasir standing a few feet from him, naked and soft in the dawning light. 

"You should let me hire someone to paint you like this," Agron rumbles, words deep in his chest. "A giant portrait to hang in my rooms."

Nasir slowly turns to look over his shoulder, eyebrow raised. "You want a giant naked portrait of me?"

"It's probably the only form of art that I could appreciate," Agron smirks, tonguing his cheek as Nasir shakes his head, draping the towel over a nearby chair. He leans over to grab his pants and Agron whistles low, clearing his throat. "Nope. I changed my mind. I want that painted."

"You can't have a portrait of my ass in your royal office," Nasir stands quickly, attempting to make his voice sharp, even with the blush spreading over his cheeks. 

"Why not? I find it to be very, very inspiring." Agron's grin is lewd, unable to keep his eyes on Nasir’s face. They drink their fill of Nasir’s bared skin, not even a chain around his waist. There are other adornments though, the bruises on his hips that Agron is sure matches his palms, the kiss marks on his neck – one on his jaw a violent purple.

"Oh? Does this help?" Nasir plants his hands down at the side table he's standing in front of, arching his back and sticking his ass out. He glances over his shoulder at Agron, smirking widely when he notices the slight bulge in Agron's pants, licking his lips slowly. "This a better angle?”

"Spread your legs just a little," Agron mutters, voice husky and thick. He groans when Nasir does as he says, opening his legs. “Fucking perfect.”

“You like this?” Nasir asks, humming in consideration for a moment before rolling his eyes. “Well, it’s not going to happen. Think of Spartacus. He’d die every time he tried to come talk to you.”

Abruptly, Nasir rights himself, pulling his pants up his legs and tying them firmly around his waist. It’s to no avail though. He doesn’t get a chance to reach for the rest of his clothes, Agron sliding from the bed with a growl to wrap an arm around Nasir’s waist, twisting and lifting him off the floor. It feels easy, effortless, as Agron swings them both. Nasir lands with a bounce back on the bed, pinned a moment later by Agron crawling on top of him. 

They wrestle for a minute, Nasir trying to wiggle away, caught by Agron’s fingers finding his side, tickling him unmercifully. He accompanies the attack by wetly pressing kisses across Nasir’s face, leaving little prints across his forehead, his nose, down his cheeks and onto his neck. Writhing back and forth, Nasir can only press up helplessly against his husband, bare feet digging into Agron’s powerful thighs. It’s no more than light tapping to Agron though, body tense with muscle. He only relents when there are laughter tears in Nasir’s eyes, one of Agron’s hands curling around Nasir’s wrist, pinning them against the soft furs. 

“Brute,” Nasir chastises affectionately. He bursts into laughter again a second later when Agron wetly blows a raspberry against his stomach. 

“Your brute.” Agron answers, grin spreading across his face and dimples carved into his cheeks. 

“Yeah.” Brushing his knuckles across Agron’s chin, Nasir leans up for a kiss that Agron meets halfway. 

They let themselves have this, kissing slow and gentle sprawled out across their bed. It never leaves Agron’s mind, the realization that this is Nasir’s first time having this. That no one has ever touched Nasir with kindness, with desire not only because he’s beautiful and magnificent, but because Agron loves him. It goes beyond base lust, base emotion. Agron does not think there is anything in the world that he would not do for Nasir, nothing too farfetched, nothing too painful to keep Nasir happy and safe. 

Pulling back, he gently traces his fingers over the swell of Nasir’s cheek, down onto his jaw. This close, he can see the flecks of green and gold in Nasir’s eyes, the way his mouth trembles just slightly when he draws his tongue across his bottom lip. Agron tracks the movement, eyes flickering from Nasir’s eyes, down to this mouth, and then back. It seems he will never get his fill, stuck between staring and wanting to press himself as close to Nasir as he can. 

"When you stare at me like this," Nasir whispers, breath soft and warm across Agron's face, "I don't know what you're thinking."

"Only that I love you," Agron replies back, a ghost of a smile across his lips. 

"I love you too."

The way Nasir says the words sounds like he's praying, like a whispered vow to something higher. There is a flicker out of the corner of their eyes, a strand of gold trickling from Nasir's bare stomach up over Agron's, patterns dancing over his own skin. It seems to hint the path that Nasir wants his hands to take. 

"Do you remember when I asked you in the tents all those months ago if you wanted to run away?" Agron asks, settling on his forearms so his weight presses against Nasir, warm and secure. 

"Yes." Nasir's arms come around Agron's shoulders, fingers tracing along his spine. 

"We could go." Agron's tone slips, desperate and secretive as he whispers. "Slip out while the guards change shifts. I’ve already memorized their movements. No one would find us for hours later. Give Duro the country, give it all away."

"Duro would be lost without you, our kingdom to ruin." Nasir furrows his brow, watches Agron's eyes get wide, pupils dilating. "This is our home, our people. You were the one to tell me this. Gerulf is dead. We're safe. There is nowhere to be but here."

"Are we?" Agron asks, lowering his voice even more, as if he's afraid someone will overhear them in the closed and empty bedroom. "What if we just wanted it so bad that we convinced ourselves it was over?"

"I saw his ashes," Nasir hisses, hands frozen on Agron's shoulders. "I saw his dead body, his snapped neck." He grips Agron’s face between his hands, the laughter from before like cooling wax. “Gerulf is gone and we are safe. Why do you say these things to me?”

"My father may have never been the true threat. What if he was the smoke screen, the dog of something bigger - something worse." Agron urges Nasir to understand. He doesn't want to say the words, doesn't want to watch the way Nasir will shut him off, ignore him the moment he speaks of Ashur. 

"What do you mean?" Nasir feels the goosebumps break out over his skin, the cold sinking dread in the pit of his stomach. "Has something happened?"

"I don't know yet," Agron answers, as honest as he can be. The words seem to crawl up his throat, and it feels as if he's choking on metal, on gold that bubbles hot and thick in his throat. "I don't know but I can feel-"

Nasir gently presses his fingers against Agron's lips, easily stopping the words from seeping out. There is barely any space between them, just a fraction of sunlight that fills with warm air on every exhale. Nasir can see the dark shadows under Agron's bright eyes, the weariness, has felt his absence in bed late into the night. He had suspected, but had been silent about his concerns until now.

"You are weary, my king," Nasir shakes his head, replacing his hand with his mouth, kissing Agron gently. "You've been over worked. The onslaught of people, the constant needs and desires of our guests. You've become paranoid. No one here wants to hurt us. We're safe."

"People here are fickle. They change as the sun changes, constantly moving," Agron wraps his hands around Nasir's wrists, pulling him closer. "And like each day changes, so do people over time." He burns to tell Nasir about Ashur, about what he’s seen, what he feels, but the words just won’t come out.

"Then let us go out there," Nasir motions towards the balcony doors, "I want to see more of this kingdom than just the inside of this castle."

"It would take a whole militia of men to be able to move through this city." Agron shakes his head miserably, turning until he can press his lips against where Nasir's pulse travels into his palm. 

"I don't want to go as kings," Nasir grins, shaking his head, "I want to go as us, as men, to walk amongst others."

"You want us to sneak out of the castle? To do what?" Agron's dark worry has begun to melt away at the innocence of the request.

"We can explore! See our people for the men and women that they are," Nasir replies, grinning wide, "We are so far away from them up here."

"And Malik?" Agron asks, stroking his fingers over the soft curve of Nasir's cheeks. 

"Völva requested a day with him. It would be the perfect excuse." Nasir cannot keep still, hands working over Agron's shirt, down across his chest. "Let us go and see our kingdom."

"I cannot deny you something that makes you this happy." Agron draws Nasir to him, kisses his forehead and down onto his temple. "We can go tomorrow, once the games are complete and no one will be in need of us."

“Thank you.”

Agron watches Nasir scurry up, moving around the room as he dresses. Outside of their haven, the sounds of the others have already started to echo. It won’t be long until they are needed, requirements of the kingdom, of their place in this world. Agron wishes he could do away with all of it, to sink back to his place as prince, when others only wanted his attention, not his strength.

But no, Agron will stand strong, will shoulder weight as he always has done. He will put Nasir far from this place when the time comes for it, even if it shreds them both. He will not allow Nasir to sacrifice himself for Agron, to be led into his own death because Agron is too selfishly in love to be without him. Agron swore when he heard Isolde's last scream, the wet finality of her life, that he would not let anyone else he loves die for him. Never again.

\- - - 

Though the morning started bright and warm, by midafternoon, the sky has filled with thick, gray clouds. They split soon after their arrival, large snowflakes scattering and piling on the walkways and gardens of the palace, mounting high on the streets of the city below. It forces the games from being held outside to in, burrowed deep under the castle walls in the arena rooms. 

The space has been crafted with the highest regard. Tall wooden beams stretch up into impossible heights, carved into vast triangles and patterns along the ceiling. A thousand candles hang from wrought iron chandeliers. The glow is not extravagant nor golden light the ones upstairs, but is warm and smell of sand and cedar. Long, staggered seats are placed along the walls of the room, enough that the court can all see the proceedings in the center. In the very front, a raised platform has been crafted, two thrones places close together. They are more simple than others, engraved wood a picture of swirling wolves and moons.

The crowd fills the arena with the sounds of their excitement, their roaring screams echoing already in the cavern. It doubles in volume when the royal couple enters, follow close behind by the council and their houses. Agron and Nasir pause before their people, greeting them with joined hands and crowns illuminated gold in the warm light. They are opposites in their dress, Agron’s traditional strappy armor covered in studs and metal charms beaten bronze and oxidized. Nasir is a vision in thin, shimmering fabric of silver and white, a cut out of the three phases of the moon arching from his waist to his chest. Malik is perched on Agron's hip, curling his tiny fists in the leather of his chest piece, socked feet swinging in excitement. Even though he's not yet four months old, Malik wears his own little circlet, the metal smooth and curved into tiny spikes. 

“Welcome,” Agron bows his head in recognition to the other royal houses spread out among the room, sectioned off with their small parties surround them. They are a rainbow of colors and sizes. “Alptra has been blessed with many guests these past few months in honor of the birth of my son, Prince Malik. Today, they finally come to a close, as men and women compete for the final glory. As a prize, the winner of this competition will be allowed to ask for one thing from me. May the final tournament begin!” 

Raising his hand, Agron gives the signal for the games to begin - a loud bell ringing out over the crowd’s riotous cries. Aids in large plumed hats and guards acting as referees take their positon around the arena. They are there to break up any fights and tally points, though most often than not in games past, they are there to help drag the injured to safety. No one has died in many years, but there are always close calls. 

"Is Duro competing today?" Nasir asks lightly, settling into his chair with a fur blanket across his lap. Though the room looks warm and homey, the depth of the arena causes the room to be chilly and damp, walls darkened in spot by water. Beside him, Pietros takes his seat as well, taking his own blanket and huffing loudly. 

"What does it matter if he is."

"I thought you were excited about watching him fight." Nasir glances up, surprised as he accepts the warm mug of mulled wine from a nearby servant. “You’ve been talking about it all week.”  
.  
“I’m allowed to change my mind.” Pietros snaps, crossing his legs and staring moodily out into the arena where the competitors are getting ready. The first fight will be sword, it seems. “Besides, what does it matter anyways? Duro gets whatever he wants regardless of whether or not he wins.”

Nasir catches Agron's eye, the both of them sharing a look before turning together to stare at the Pietros. Neither have seen him or the rest of his couple since yesterday when they had stumbled from another tireless banquet, arms wrapped around one another. He doesn't look any different, though he's slouched in his chair, flippantly picking at his nails. He doesn't even bother to look up when they announce the first two fighters to sword. Instead, he pursues his lips and ignores the two men. 

“Pietros,” Nasir asks gently, unassuming and sweet, “did something happen this morning?”

Rolling his head against the back of his chair, Pietros glares over vehemently at the pair, dark eyes narrowed into slits. He looks eerily snake like when he does it. “My three fiancés thought it funny to watch me give my favor to another man this morning.”

“Your favor?” Uninterested in watching the two men fencing before him, Agron leans over the arm of his chair so he can better hear, resting his shoulder against Nasir’s back. Malik does not move from his lap, instead chews on the edge of his blanket.

“Prince Helio sent me a bouquet of wheat and asked for my favor and luck in the games,” Pietros replies, waving his hand irritated, “and I sent the servant back with a scarf.”

“As a sign of your interest in courting him?” Agron supplies the answer before Nasir can question it. 

“I did not know what I was doing. How the fuck was I supposed to?” Pietros moodily takes a sip of his wine, letting the warm notes of cinnamon and oranges sooth him. “It doesn’t matter anyways. I told them all to fuck off, and if Helio wants to shower me in presents, then I see nothing wrong with it.”

Agron and Nasir share a look again, minds silent but still communicating. It’s pointless drama, though they both think that Pietros has a point. How many times have Agron and Nasir butted heads against a misunderstanding in their cultures? If communication isn’t there, then these sorts of things will happen. Agron seems to take the lead on this though, furrowing his brow. 

“I cannot argue that my brother can be an idiot, but I would hint at caution, Pietros. Helio is not just a prince, he’s the crowned heir. An insult against him may cause problems for all of us.” Agron states the words carefully. He doesn’t want to put more pressure on the man than he has to, but what he’s saying is true. 

“I don’t see why I can’t humor him. Maybe I want to be courted, swooned by a prince that knows what he’s doing,” Pietros snips, pursing his lips at the king, “After this morning, I’m not sure I even want to get married. Why not just fuck around and not have to deal with it?”

“You don’t mean that.” Nasir sighs, exasperated. He knows Pietros. He knows what’s in his heart. Regardless of their past, it is not where they are now.

“I do. I do mean it.” Pietros turns his attention back to his nails, “Besides, I’ve barely begun to sample all the men this world has to offer. I don’t think I want to be tied down anymore.”

“We have sampled them and if you remember, brother, we found them very lacking.” Nasir rolls his eyes again, relaxing back into his chair and gently pulling Malik over into his lap – clearly done with the conversation. Nasir makes sure to keep the blanket around the babe, the embroidered wolves along the silk edges matching his outfit. Malik settles easily, playing with a small ring of stars, cooing gently at Nasir. He offers the toy to his baba, shaking them, and Nasir leans down, pretending to bite at the soft material. It makes Malik screech, giggling as he takes the toy back, wiggling in Nasir’s grip. 

“He’ll be cutting teeth soon,” Agron murmurs, nuzzling a kiss against Nasir’s cheek and then down against his son’s. 

“Oh I know.” Nasir taps Malik’s nose; the baby wrinkling it in reply, making a wet sort of growl in reply. “I’ve already felt little fangs.”

“Yes, Malik is adorable and perfect.” Pietros cuts in, reaching over to gently tug at the star ring in Malik’s hand, “But what am I supposed to do now? If you are so inclined to give out advice.”

“About Helio or your lucky three?” Agron asks, glancing up at the other man. He keeps his fingers moving over Malik’s cheeks though, teasing him by gently tapping against the plump flesh. 

“Both.”

“I guess you have to consider what you’ll be giving up if you choose to break the engagement,” Agron shrugs one shoulder, off handed and simple as he continues to spin one of Malik’s curls around his fingers – an action he has done numerous times with Nasir, “Is one cruel joke enough to give up what could be years of happiness?”

Pietros doesn’t look down at his engagement, doesn’t twist the thin silver band around his finger, play with the topaz stone. He wants to though, wants to enough that he curls his hands over the arms of chair and tries not to let his mind wander to darker thoughts. He knows he shouldn’t be jealous. Nasir and Agron have struggled, have fought, have hinged on the edge of disaster, and yet it has never crossed their lips. No matter how bad the situation, neither Agron nor Nasir have tried to break it off, tried to run, tried to free themselves from one another. Pietros doesn’t understand it – how two people can be that deep.

“I don’t think you’ll have much time to deliberate,” Nasir mutters through his teeth, eyes darting to the side just as the Taurant competitors take the sand. 

True to form, Helio is wearing the amber and gold sash around his left wrist tied carefully in an elaborate knot. Around his waist, his armor is simple – a short orange and brown printed skirt, boots up to his knees, a gold circlet across his forehead. The other Taurant men and women press against him, his gaggle of fans that fawn over him and stick close. When they’re this young, every opportunity is a party, a fun, a joke spinning on the pin of a top. Helio stalks proud and sure of himself directly towards the Alptraum royal platform. He is the epitome of princely ego, a swagger to his steps forged by a life of privilege and status. 

"Your majesties.” Prince Helio bows his head, formal and expertly done. He glances up at the last moment, grin spreading across his handsome face as he meets Pietros' gaze. He winks, the move sharp and practiced. 

"Prince Helio. Greetings." Nasir raises an eyebrow, bouncing his leg to settle Malik's light whining. Any years before and Nasir would be impressed by this boy. He’s only three years younger than Nasir, beautiful in youth and the strong cut of his jaw. But time has aged Nasir far beyond his twenty years. He is not just a young anymore, but a king, a father, a husband. 

"I wished to thank you again for your hospitality." Helio stands straight, unmoved and brash with the way he's raking his eyes over Pietros. "My father and I have enjoyed our time here in Alptra and all of your magnificent attributes."

“We are happy to have you.” Nasir nods again, charming and hospitable. He doesn’t bother to speak directly of how he feels about the King of Taurus or the easy way he had put his hands on Agron. 

“Lord Pietros.” Turning his dark eyes over, Helio bows his head again. “I am very honored and delighted you accepted and returned favor. May your token give me strength in the coming games.”

“Y-Yes?” Pietros nods, confused and sharp, unsure of what the proper response to the prince’s decree is. 

Agron takes a slow breath. He's too old for this fucking shit. There is something familiar in the way Helio conducts himself, sure and blessed as first born. Agron knows what it feels like to be filled with this sort of pride, this easy way of life. Still, he cannot be bothered with this today. His mind is already heavy with thoughts from this morning, the creeping fear that Ashur is planning something, of forces in motion that he cannot keep at bay.

"We are looking forward to your showing of skill." Agron waves his fingers. It's dismissal, poignant and sharp, an action only a king could get away with. Beside him, he can feel Nasir trying to smother his grin, leaning to press his lips to Malik's head to hide it. 

Helio's expression flickers, mask slipping just a little before he nods, turning on his heel. He doesn't look back over, but instead roughly yanks his sword from one of his attendants. There is a flash of young rage there, temper unleashed for just a moment. Helio swings it a few times, experimenting, when the other side of the arena breaks out into cheers, his competitor coming onto the sands with a loud drumming. 

"Fuck the gods," Nasir hisses, reaching over to latch onto Agron's hand. He laces his fingers between Agron's, squeezing sharply. Agron doesn't need Nasir's frantic grasping to realize Duro has just entered the arena, stripped down to basic armor without a chest piece. He holds a large sword in one hand, brandishing it to the roar of the Alptraum crowd. 

“Shit.” Agron sighs deeply, watching as his brother, flanked by Barca and Auctus, as well as four other soldiers aiming to compete. Resisting the urge to drop his head, Agron settles for rolling his eyes. “Must everyone try my patience today?”

“Is Duro set to fight Helio?” Pietros asks, leaning over to hiss the words so as not to be over heard. “I thought he didn’t compete until later.”

“Spartacus’ absence has changed the schedule.” Agron rubs at his brow. “Duro is set to defend the royal house’s honor.”

“It’s just a game though, right? No one is set to get hurt or anything. There are rules.” Pietros’ tone turns a little frantic at the end, glancing quickly between where Duro and Helio are glaring at one another. Duro isn’t wearing his crown, so it’s clear that his brow is furrowed, expression mutinous as he approaches the royal dais.

“Brother, Nasir,” Duro bows his head, “I fight for the honor of our house and our name.”

“You have done well to get us this far,” Agron praises, nodding his head, “You have done us proud.”

“Thank you,” Duro nods his head, turning his gaze towards Pietros. “Prince Helio has learned of your engagement, Pietros, and has refused to let go our misunderstanding.”

“What do you mean refuses to let go?” Pietros worries his bottom lip between his teeth. 

Squaring his shoulders, Duro looks up at Pietros, grim and furious. “He has told me, and the others, that he would rather fight all of us for your hand than allow you to suffer at the hands of such beasts. Helio has insisted the competition today will show you whom is a better match.”

“This is ridiculous. It’s a misunderstanding by a bratty prince and a joke gone too far,” Nasir snaps, glancing at Agron for agreement. 

“Regardless.” Taking a deep breath, Duro slaps his fist to his shoulder. “It is my right and my will to fight for my fiancé’s honor and the glory of our house.”

Pietros wants to say something, has it on the tip of his tongue, but Duro is already retreating, large back tense with anger.

With Nasir’s hand over his, Agron can feel his husband’s rapid pulse against his wrist, the frantic beating of someone who recognizes the danger. Agron had told Nasir of these sorts of competitions, where friendly fighting turns deadly due to grudges and tempers. Agron himself had been stabbed multiple times in the past, and had broken a nose in reply as well. Surely by now Helio must have been told about Pietros’ status, and there is nothing stopping him now from damaging the other prince and trying to win affections for himself.

_He wouldn’t hurt Duro in front of you though, right? He’s your brother. That must stand for something. They’re in our land!_ Nasir doesn’t move his lips, continuing to gently bounce his leg. Malik is none the wiser to what is going on around him, still happily gumming at his toy, blinking his large green eyes. 

_He won’t kill him._ Agron flips his wrist over, lacing his fingers through Nasir’s instead, thumb tracing over his knuckles. He does it for both of them reassurance through the way their palms fit together. It has been a long time since Agron worried about Duro on the sands, years even. In the past, Agron has always defended the royal line. 

They take their mark, both men bowing to one another and then readying their stance. Something is said, Duro’s eyes flashing and Helio’s grin too wide. It’s a taunt no doubt, a jab to get both of their blood racing. Already, Agron can tell that Duro is too fucking hungover for this. Duro is a good fighter, having trained under Spartacus and Oenomaus for many years. Still, he doesn’t have the concentration or the discipline to be a mighty warrior. He is better at being a diplomat than a soldier. 

A loud bell rings, the signal for the games to begin, and Duro makes the first swing – a telling already of his temper. It leaves his whole side open, chest to flank, a novice’s move, and Agron grits his teeth. Helio answers with an upswing of his own, the metal of their swords clanging loudly above the screams of the crowd. With a flash of teeth, Duro flexes his arms and uses his size to shove as hard as he can, making Helio stumble half a step back. It starts a series of swings and blocks, parries that slam metal against metal. 

Helio is skilled for his age, sharp spins and strikes that aim low on Duro to get him to stumble. Whomever his instructor is has taught him to go for his opponent’s weaknesses, not try to overpower them. It doesn't work, Duro rolling his shoulders back and taking the weight of the sharp jabs as Helio comes for him. He answers in a complicated swinging of his sword, Duro cutting up high and quick – a move Agron has drilled in him before. 

It seems that Duro has the upper hand, Helio staggering a taking one knee. From this far away, it is unclear the words that pass between them, heated and loud, before Helio suddenly ducks to grab a fistful of sand, throwing it in Duro’s face. It’s a cheap move, and the crowd boos and hisses from it, displeased the display against their crowned prince. On the royal platform, Agron swears he bites through his lip to keep from shouting. 

The attack lessens Duro’s sight, making him take three quick blows to the chest that force him back. He swings too wide, blindly and weakly trying to connect sword to flesh, but it’s to no avail. Helio lines up his sword and perfectly executes an affondo – stabbing his sword into Duro’s left shoulder. Blood pours instantly from the wound, Duro suddenly half shifted and howling out a broken sound. 

“Halt!”

Agron is on his feet before he realizes it, growl choked in his throat as Nasir’s hand wraps desperately around his wrist. He freezes the instant he smells it, over the thick scent of Duro’s pouring blood, the sweet tang of Nasir’s. He must have cut himself on Agron’s claws when they had suddenly extended. He doesn’t get a chance to turn and apologize as he’s suddenly shoved out of the way, Pietros jumping over the barrier that separates the arena from the stands, and dashing across the white sand. 

Helio reaches for him, expecting some excited embrace, but Pietros side steps him easily, rushing to Duro instead. Barca and Auctus meet him there, all three of them surrounding the prince and leading him towards the side where the medics are already gathered. He seems coherent, the wound deep but not deadly, and his howls have turned to pained whimpers instead. 

“Steady, my love,” Nasir whispers, barely moving his lips. In his lap, Malik has gone completely still, staring with widening eyes up at his half changed father – eyes gleaming and teeth sharp. 

“Prince Helio." Agron's face stretches into a forced grin, words spoken through fangs glinting and sharp. "I applaud you on your skill. Though I would caution you. Killing my brother would be a grave offense to this kingdom."

"Would it?" Helio asks, jovial and egotistical, glancing over at his friends.

"Helio." Tankemenin’s bark is more king than fatherly, waving his hand in one quick move that silences the prince.

“As per rules of the competition and under King Agron’s mighty rule,” an aid steps forward, the feather in his leather cap a brilliant shade of blue, “The Taurant royal house has been disqualified.”

“What?” Helio cries loudly. “I thought this was a true fight! Show me your fucking worst!” His sword is still dripping blood onto the ground, the liquid thick and sticky. 

Tankemenin rises from his chair and with a quick motion of his hand, sends one of his guards to collect his son. He isn’t gentle about it either, reaching out and snatching the boy by the back of his neck and dragging him off the sands. Tankemenin, in a move that is completely overdone, raises his cup at Agron in a means of apology. 

They clear the sand, new soldiers coming to fight, and Agron finds himself sinking back into his chair. There is a throbbing behind his eyes, an oncoming migraine that he knows is going to full form soon. He can see out of the corner of his eye where Ashur is sitting in the stands, close enough to Dietrich that it’s obvious he’s part of the royal house without it being disrespectful. Agron can’t put aside the image of him last night, the magic and the weird words he was muttering to himself. 

“Duro will be alright.” Nasir suddenly leans over the side of his chair, kissing Agron’s cheek. “Don’t worry yourself so much. Pietros will help. You know they’re just being ridiculous.”

“What? Oh.” Agron shakes his head a little. “I know. It’s fine. He’s been hurt before in battle and sparring before.”

Nasir doesn’t turn away, watches the way Agron worries his thumb nail between his teeth. He’s not naïve enough to not realize something is going on. Nasir has seen the creeping darkness slowly building in Agron’s eyes, the tension laced down his back, the hunch of stress in his shoulders. He can’t understand it though. There is no reason that Nasir can find to make Agron so paranoid like this, so fucking tense that it seems he will snap at any moment.

_Are you alright?_ Nasir lets his eyes be big and earnest, lets the desperation he's feeling cloud over him. 

_I'm fine. Just tired._ Agron tries to smile, tries to force it up, but it doesn't meet his eyes. _I didn't sleep well last night._

"If something was going on, if something was wrong, you'd tell me right?" Nasir whispers the words, leans over again so he can rest his cheek on Agron's shoulder. "I'm on your side, no matter what."

Agron has to swallow it back, the real truth. He hates it. Hates all the pressure, all the lies. "Of course I would."

Turning, Agron presses his lips to Nasir's forehead, resting them there. He's sure that the other royalty within the room are watching them, analyzing and filing away information on them to use later. It is impossible to be part of a royal family and avoid gossip. Everyone has an opinion on everything. Still, Agron tries not to focus on it too much, tries instead to enjoy the quiet way Malik is falling asleep in Nasir's arms and the way his husband fits against his side. 

"Majesty, apologies." One of the competition aids stands before them, bowing heavily under his largely plumed hat. 

"Yes? What is it?" Agron already knows what he's going to say, knows how the brackets of this competition work. 

"With Prince Duro's injury forcing him out of the competition, there is no one to defend the royal house in the final round." The aid bows again, nervous and trembling. "Would you like to forfeit?"

Agron grits his teeth. thinking of Helio's leering face, of Ashur's smirk in the dark, of all the things in his life spiraling slowly out of control. It seems that any moment of peace, of what should be joy, is slowly being taken away from him. This time though, he will not allow it. 

"I will stand in my brother's place," Agron gently extracts himself from Nasir's hold, standing up. He begins to unbuckle his royal cloak, tossing the heavy fur over the back of his throne.

"I will inform the rest of your decision. Lord Crixus said he would prepare you." The aid bows again before scurrying off, rising murmurs as he takes the news to the other aids and judges.

"What's the final competition?" Nasir has stood as well, handing their now sleeping son off to Chadara to take upstairs. 

Agron can't help but smirk, stepping down from the platform and handing his crown back up to Nasir. It will sit on the throne until he comes to reclaim it, hopefully victorious. 

"You will see."

With a wink, Agron strides off across the edges of the sand, heading towards where Crixus and the rest of the guard sit and wait for him. The final competition of games is a three-part system where the top competitors from each family go up against one another until it finally eliminates down to two. The tasks include sword fighting, spear, and wrestling. Because of Helio's display of dishonor, it has eliminated the Taurant house early - forcing the Alptraum royalty to continue forward. With Duro out, Saxa's disqualification when she ran a man through, and Tove having been eliminated at an earlier competition by a twisted ankle, there is no one eligible except for Agron and Nasir. 

"Highness." Crixus' deep voice grumbles over the words, watching impassively as Agron enters the competitor's room, closing the door behind him. 

Two men, Pelba and Jegan, step forward to help Agron undress. The whole thing is done very quickly, hands efficient and careful as they untie laces and unhook the leather straps that keep Agron's formal, kingly attire in place. He seems unfazed by the whole thing, grinning wide and cunning at the captain of his guard. 

"Did you really think I was going to be able to sit out the entire games?" Agron laughs, standing there naked and proud as the men return with large, soft haired brushes. They start at his shoulders, painting the slick oil over his body, the scent thick of cedar and pine. 

"I half expected you to send Nasir in here," Crixus answers. He's holding a strip of pale fabric, the material course and thick. "In training a few days past, he managed to jump and wrap his legs around Auctus' shoulders. It brought him completely down.”

"He is a very skilled fighter, one that I am most proud of." Agron cannot help but beam, grin denting the dimples into his cheeks. "But I am selfish in my desire to compete. It has been too long since I felt the weight of a sword in my hand.”

“Give them hell.” Crixus' grin matches Agron's - manic and wide eyed. He hands over the subligaria, clapping the king roughly on the shoulder. 

Agron enters the arena to the roar of the crowd, the nobles and audience putting their hands up and screaming in excitement. He does not look the part of stiff, regal king any longer. This is the warrior, the titan that Alptraum rallies behind, the killer prince. Agron’s body gleams in the lights, the oil slick over corded muscles, the massive strength of his shoulders, down into his arms. His bare feet dent the sand as he approaches the royal platform. 

On the other side, King Rastul enters, waving his thick arms at the crowd as well. His one eye sits directly in the center of his forehead, blinking slowly, the pupil a sickly yellow. He is oiled as well, as per tradition, though he is not as toned as Agron, he is still thick around the middle and heavy. He crosses his arms over his chest as he approaches the royal dais as well, smirking wide when he notices that Nasir is scowling. 

_You give the command for us to begin._ Agron supplies easily, grinning up at his husband. _And you will also place the mantel upon the head of the winner_

Nasir glances between both men, inclining his head slightly. He tries to keep his expression neutral, but heat boils low, face flushing. He tracks a single droplet of oil from the curve of Agron’s collarbones, down onto his chest, and then further to his stomach. Something swoops in Nasir’s stomach, having to turn away when Agron catches on, smirking turning lewd. 

_Like what you see?_ Agron taunts, the stress and strangeness from earlier seeming to have melted from him. He looks back to normal, happy and a little reckless, a manic sort of excitement at the prospect of a good fight. 

_Yes_ Nasir means it in multiple ways, earnest and bright. 

“Take your positions, King Agron. King Rastul.”

Both men bow to Nasir, moving onto the sand and standing apart. Nasir isn’t really mad about the slight that King Rastul made against him. He knows that it is one of many he’ll probably receive as consort. Still, he is tired of these people – the ones who have come to gawk and stare at them. The ones that want to see and pick apart Malik. Agron’s strange behavior. Nasir just wants everything to get back to normal. 

_Agron?_ Nasir murmurs, waiting until Agron turns his head, _Don’t lose._

He waves his arm, the aid ringing the bell to signal the beginning of the match. Rastul doesn’t wait any time, shoving his shoulder as hard as he can into Agron’s, pressing his weight behind it. Agron takes the hit in stride, digging his feet into the sand and squaring off his grip. Reaching up, Agron wraps his hands around the back of Rastul's neck, tugging down hard to throw off his balance. The move works, Rastul staggering down onto his knees and Agron is able to get out of the grip. 

The crowd roars as the first point goes to Agron, who stands and lifts one arm to the crowd. Time slows for just a moment, the glory blanketing over through the room. A beam of light shatters across Agron's sweaty face, his eyes glinting deadly and powerful, and the Alptraum people begin to clap their hands in a powerful beat. It's a short lived victory as from the sand, Rastul's arm stretches out, hand wrapping around Agron's ankle and tugging. 

He hits the ground hard, teeth tearing through his bottom lip and spewing blood. Agron doesn't shout or cry out in pain, spits the thick sludge onto the ground with a growl. He's quick to roll onto his back and grip Rastul as he descends, nearly tossing the man over his head as he gets his legs up. The two men crash together again, hands gripping and twisting. The sand sticks to skin, caking over their backs and arms, coating them. Agron uses it to his advantage, hooking one leg around Rastul and flipping him roughly onto his back.

Reaching up, Rastul reaches for Agron's throat, gets one beefy hand around his esophagus. It seems to tip something in Agron, a flipping of a dozen switches, as he wraps his long fingers around Rastul's wrist. The crack echoes even above the crowd, using the now broken appendage as a tool as he flips Rastul over. It gives Agron a chance to catch Nasir’s flushed face in the crowd, a ripple of gold moving from his chest to his neck. 

The cyclops king doesn't give up without a fight though, wiggling and cursing loudly as he kicks Agron solidly in the center of his chest. Agron doesn't let it dissuade him, eyes beaming neon and bright as he shoves Rastul down on his front. It only takes a quick work of his hands and yanking to pin the other man down, arm twisted up his back. The referee counts it down, and Rastul nearly screams when Agron yanks his wrist for a final showing.

The aid's announcement of the winner isn't needed, lost in the roar as Agron stands up, raising both of his arms. There is blood smeared down from his chin to across his chest. He wipes at it, smears it up onto his neck as he approaches the royal dais. Through the many bodies rushing around, he can see Nasir’s beaming smile, hands clasped before him in delight. It’s ruined through in the next moment, a few people scatter across before Agron, and when he sees his husband again – Ashur is latched onto his ear, whispering vigorously. 

Ashur makes some motion with his hand, lips nearly touching Nasir’s earlobe, and the king’s smile seems to melt before Agron’s very eyes. It’s like a smile in reverse, the corners of his full mouth ticking downward, the flush on his cheeks paling. Agron cannot stand it, cannot stand here and watch as the joy and excitement are washed away by Ashur’s evil tongue. 

“A kiss for the champion?” Agron asks, placing his hands on the edge of the platform and pulling himself up. He has to hold his weight on his arms, toes off the ground to reach Nasir, arms bunching thick with muscle and gleaming with the wrestling oil. 

“You did very well,” Nasir leans down, away from Ashur, to pet a quick hand over Agron’s sweaty cheek and kiss him. It does not bother to start chaste, a quick battle of tongues and nipping teeth before Nasir pulls back, blushing once more. 

“I do believe that I get to claim any favors that I want from the Alptraum royal house and the mantle of champion of the realms.” Agron ignores Ashur’s glare, the way he huffs loudly at being so ignored. Nasir is captivated though, crouched down so he’s level with Agron, eyes glazing. 

“And what would you like, my Alptraum beast? My king said you could have anything.” Nasir murmurs the words, petting his fingers through the short spikes of Agron’s hair. 

“I want to take his consort to bed,” Agron answers, feeling the spike of arousal at the game they’ve started, “and claim him as mine.”

“You make a very bold request for your prize.” Nasir watches the way Agron’s chest gleams in the light, covered in the cedar oil and blood. He wants to put his mouth to it, to bite and suck his way up from Agron’s hips, to taste the power behind this man’s body. 

“One I believe I have earned,” Agron smirks, reaches up to grip Nasir’s chin in his hand, “unless you need another demonstration of my strength?”

Nasir flushes darker, mouth bitten and bruised already from his resistance. He knows the game has been set though, leaning forward to kiss Agron again – slow and wet with panted breath. It is an answer of itself but Nasir still finds his voice. “The royal house of Alptra is a most _giving_ and _dedicated_ house. I am honored to supply any and all favors you wish you claim.”

“Nasir!” Ashur suddenly interrupts the pair, the two kings kissing heatedly over the short platform wall surrounding them. Agron’s fingers are curled in Nasir’s hair, and he doesn’t let go when they both turn. “We were having a conversation before you decided to partake in this overly bold statement of affection.“

“Are you uncomfortable with me kissing my husband?” Nasir asks, cutting off whatever Agron was going to reply with. His words aren’t harsh yet, but there is a gleam of defiance in them still, something Agron has not seen displayed towards Ashur yet. 

“I am uncomfortable with the way your husband turns you into a whore while numerous royal house watch you.” Ashur snarls, shaking his head in disgust. 

He isn’t wrong, they’re been watched by a few people, gazes unwavering from the way the Alptraum royal couple slide together. It is no different than any other time though, touching and tasting to the point of being indecent before they slip away. Agron and Nasir are young and in love – it is expected. 

Agron opens his mouth, the retort to Ashur’s allegations burning on the tip of his tongue, but to his surprise, Nasir cuts him off again. 

“Oh Ashur,” Nasir slides his hands over Agron’s chest and onto his back and then over to the front again, “You have no idea all of the depraved things I do for my husband. I even let him fuck me, did you know that? Anyway he wants.”

Choking on a laugh, Agron stares at Nasir in disbelief. He’s never heard Nasir use that tone before, taunting and self-satisfied, clearly feeling up Agron in plain view of everyone else. It has a surprising effect on Ashur, whose mouth folds itself into a straight line, his eyes getting darker with anger. He doesn’t say anything though, turning sharply on his heel and stomping off. 

“What was that all about?” Agron laughs in bewilderment as Nasir watches Ashur leave and then turns back to him. 

“I’m tired of him treating me like a child. I’m allowed to kiss you if I want to kiss you. I’m married to you for fuck’s sake. We have a baby. Obviously something intimate has happened between us to be able to make Malik.”

“Something intimate?” Agron raises an eyebrow, now teasing himself. 

“Something very intimate and very, _very_ hot.” Nasir grins, eyes crinkling at the sides as he presses another lingering kiss to Agron’s mouth. “Now take me upstairs so I can grant you that favor you so diligently earned.”

“Majesty.” 

Agron bows low before hoisting himself upon the platform to follow Nasir from the room. He knows he should probably return for his royal clothing, change from the subligaria and wash his sand streaked skin, but there is something wild in Nasir’s gaze that Makes Agron stay his hand. It takes all of Agron’s willpower not to just pull Nasir down on the back stairs and have his way with him right there, fucking him hard and fast on the stones. He’ll wait though, be patient until they get the closed door of their bedroom before he claims what he really wants – Nasir calling his name over and over again, lost in the haze of pleasure and heat. 

\- - -

Morning dawns bright and clear, the air bitterly cold. The path that Agron and Nasir take to escape the castle is more than complicated - it is an obstacle course. They have to duck under short doorways, fall behind large bushes and alcoves, and wait patiently until guards are done pacing one way before turning to walk the opposite. By the time they reach the outskirts of the city, Nasir is convinced that the only way Agron managed to get them out is he must have done it before. It's too much of a maze to have been perfectly done the first time. 

"We finally made it." 

Nasir cannot help the excitement that brightens his voice. He's careful to keep his hood up, cloak plain and black - insignificant amongst the peasants they walk through. He's kept his clothes to the same fashion, a pair of tight red paints and a loose tunic tied up the front. The embroidery is still ornate, but something more commonly found on a merchant than a king. 

Around them, the city of Galena stretches far and brilliant, shining white and silver in the bright sunshine. The streets are uneven stone, a twisting path that leads in all directions, all focusing towards where the markets and town center are. It reflects the organization of the castle in the regards of likened businesses being together, and yet there is much movement around – people bustling with full baskets, shouting to one another, a harp playing in the corner while a dog barks in someone’s foyer. 

"Duro and I would sometimes sneak out of the castle when we were younger," Agron answers, continuing his way forward. "We were bored princes more often than not." His own hood is brown, cloak a mix of coarse fabric and leather. He has to be more careful - recognizable as people have seen him for so many years. He's let his beard grow a little longer the past few days, partly to stress, and it helps his disguise even more. 

"There is so much to take in! So much to do." Nasir clasps his hands before him, eyes growing wide as they begin to make their way closer to city center. “I do not think a day is enough time to experience everything.” 

"And we will do and see as much as we can." Agron promises, hand warm on Nasir’s shoulder. They both decided that they would be far less recognizable if they act as if they are not married. "We just need to be careful. If anyone discovers who we are, it will not end well. There are guards out among the people, but a riot can turn deadly fast."

"I will be careful. No magic, I promise." Nasir glances over at Agron, trying to school the excited grin off of his face. It does not work, eyes bright and eager. "You never told me what lie you gave to the counsel and to Laeta for our absence today. Völva did not ask.”

The truth is, Nasir did not let Völva ask any questions. When Agron and Nasir had dropped Malik off with her, Nasir spent the whole time reminding her of when Malik’s nap is, what makes him stop crying, what gets him to eat when he’s fussy, and so on. Enough that Völva forced them from her rooms, swearing she knew what she was doing after four sons, four grandchildren, and one great grandchild. 

"Oh, I uh," Agron pauses a moment to let a large horse drawn cart toddle by. The clip of the horses' hooves on stones help drown out his words until Nasir can barely hear them. "I told Laeta and the council that I was collecting my favor as champion of the royal games and I insisted we spend all day trying for another heir."

Nasir's face slowly shifts, eyes widening as he raises his eyebrows. He waits until the peasants are farther away before he leans up to hiss at Agron. "They think we're fucking all day?"

"I thought it was a reasonable excuse. Malik is nearly four months old. It's our anniversary today. No one questioned it." Agron shrugs lightly, turning to lead them forward, when Nasir's hand on his wrist stops him. 

“I highly doubt that the council thought it was a reasonable excuse.” Nasir rolls his eyes, resisting the urge to wrap his hand around Agron’s arm. “Besides, do you really think it would take a day to make another baby? We slept together once and Malik was created.”

“I mean,” Agron pauses walking, motioning a hand back towards the castle, “if you want, we can go back to the castle and try instead of sneaking around the city like criminals.”

“We have time to make more babies.” Nasir sticks his tongue out, the movement juvenile and sharp. It’s not the etiquette of a young king, but it makes Agron grin in reply anyway. 

"Wait, what's an anniversary?" Nasir stumbles over the word, nose wrinkling a half a step later. It flips something in Agron, a slow realization. Of course if Nasir and the Pythonissa don't celebrate birthdays and are very rarely married, they would have no concept of anniversaries or remembrance days. 

"An anniversary is the celebration of something at a given length of time," Agron replies, leaning against the wall of the house they're huddled against. "It's like birthdays. A birthday is an anniversary of your birth. Well, today, we've been married a year."

"A whole year," Nasir's voice dips, reverend and soft. He says it as if it is holy. 

"Our seasons are nine months of summer, nine of winter, so our next anniversary will be in the summer." Agron continues on, knowing Nasir isn't really listening. He's staring glassy eyed up at the eaves of the roofs around them. Somewhere nearby, a woman is singing, the sound soft through the walls of her home. There is the sweet, heavy scent of mulled wine close by too, citrus and heavy berries. Nasir snaps back a moment later, grinning again. 

"Well, what do people do on their wedding anniversary?" 

"I don't know." Agron gets them moving again, taking a few steps towards market. "I've never had one. Anything we like, I guess."

Hooking his fingers around the front hem of Agron's cloak, tugging him closer. To a passerby, it appears as if they're sharing a secret, whispering to keep from passerby's from overhearing. Nasir keeps his eyes downcast, eyelashes long and dark against his cheeks, smiling slowly and wide. Agron gets the urge to gently pet his fingertips over them, to touch Nasir's face and feel the wrinkles next to his eyes when he grins. 

"Let's pretend, for today, that we're not who we are," Nasir says the words slowly, conspirator and soft. “We don’t want to be recognized anyway. And it would give us the freedom to do what we want.”

“And what? Assume the roles of traveling merchants?” Agron asks, having to stifle a laugh as a few women walk by. “Just friends casually stopping in Galena for the week?”

“Yes!” Nasir nods hastily, “It is a good plan. There are enough people in the city that no one should question it. Besides, half the peasants in Galena have only seen us from a distance.”

“You want to spend the day that we’re celebrating being married and together for a year, by pretending to be other people?” Agron cannot shake the irony of this. 

“It’ll be fun. Like a game.” Nasir taps his hand on Agron’s shoulder. “We will just present ourselves as old business partners. You can be Jaecar, trader of skins and tools and I’ll be Tiberius, specializing in fine clothes and wine. We’ve been friends for years, traveling together across the lands, and decided to take a holiday in Galena to see the snow and breathe in the fresh, clean air.”

“You’ve clearly thought about this before.” 

Something flickers over Nasir’s expression, like a cloud passing quickly over the sun. It’s there just long enough for Agron to see it before Nasir hides it away, tucks it back deep into his pocket. Agron can’t forget it though, the darkness that skirted around his eyes, the twist in his full mouth. Still, he reaches forward to tap a finger to Nasir’s nose, the move intimate and way too soft. 

“Alright, Tiberius.” Agron waves his hand in a small circle, motioning them forward. “Allow me welcome you to the inner city of Galena.”

The white stone streets of Galena don't exist on a grid, but instead twist and turn in weaving lines that loop around the city. There is an old Alptraum saying that the paths of Galena only to further paths, and to some degree it is true. The streets are heavy with snow, trampled in paths where the peasants have moved around the city, but they too all seem to be pointing in the same direction - towards the center.

The marketplace is formed in a large square, the lanes and streets abruptly stopping to enter into the clearing - reminiscent of those found in the forest. Colorful tents and stands crowd the brilliant streets, smoke and scents filling the air, brimming with cooking food. Noise booms from all around, voices echoing off the tall houses and shops around, music tinkering out as the background. Everywhere there are people - rushing around, shouting at one another, bargaining and laughing.

Nasir is instantly taken by the crowd, marveling at the sights before him. Every stand is a brightly colored display - fruits hanging ripe and vibrant from long stems, cured meats steaming up in thin swirls of parsley and garlic scented steam, racks upon racks of heavy jeweled necklaces, embroidered lace and silks. The Alptraum merchants call out to those milling around enticing and sharp, spreading their arms wide over their bounty. 

Agron lingers silent and watching behind as Nasir easily converses with a woman about the price of her fabrics, making sure not to remove his hood and expose his face. He doesn't do it unkindly, but is calculated and aggressive in his bargaining – a skill he hasn’t learned in Alptra it seems. Agron can't help the overwhelming feeling of fondness for the man before him, Nasir's Alptraum tongue still a little staggered - second language learned too quickly - but he is clever and manages to get the woman to lower the price and give him more silk for the deal. 

They could have had this. The idea strikes Agron as Nasir moves forward, unable to keep himself from marveling at the ornaments a few booths over. They're spun glass fairies, wolves, and stars, levitating by old fae magic. The colors are bright but translucent, almost as if they've been created by falling rain. Agron does not care about the toys. He's seen them all his life. Instead, he openly stares at Nasir's awestruck face, the soft curve of his parted lips, eyes nearly sparkling as the pad of his middle finger gently touches the corner of a glass phoenix. The deeply crimson bird lazily turns in a circle, and Nasir grins. 

Something snaps into place in Agron's chest, almost like a cog finally slipping forward. It's the jolt of being comfortable, happy even. Agron could see them like this, peasants surrounded by others, stripped of their titles. Two men, insignificant except to one another, their son tucked safely in their arms. The only thing they'd have to worry about is who will get up in the morning to milk the cows, feed the goats, chop the wood for the fire at night. Agron can see their life together as if it's one huge painting - a small cottage on the plains, the grass blowing in the summer wind, a vegetable garden out back. Malik and a few other little ones playing with in the western fields, chasing the lightening bugs and cicadas in the dying light. Agron - body weary from planting and harvesting all day - sinking into bed beside Nasir, relaxing under homemade quilts and the quiet songs of crickets. The soft press of bare skin, the harvest chill in the air when Agron gently presses against Nasir’s soft body, and then deeper.

"You stare too much, Jaecar. You're going to give our cover away." A small bag of roasted nuts is suddenly thrust under Agron's nose, Nasir's palm against his stomach. The aroma is delightfully warm, cinnamon and nutmeg curling up in plumes. 

"How do you know I wasn't staring at someone behind you?" Agron scoffs, taking the offered food and popping a chestnut into his mouth. 

Nasir turns around to take in the gaggle of old women behind him, all situated on low stools, sewing the hem of a large dress. They all look ancient, curved backs and hands cascading in the rough lines of wrinkles, hair braided into soft white plaits. Turning back to his husband, Nasir raises an eyebrow, pursing his lips. 

“Apologies. I did not realize you had a type.”

“Come on.” 

Playfully, Agron reaches out and tugs Nasir forward by the sleeve e of his cloak, rolling his eyes. It’s best to keep them moving, less recognizable and susceptible to removal if they don’t linger. Not that Agron thinks the palace guard would be mad if they figured it out, more that they would be required to return the royal couple to the castle for safety purposes. 

They move through the streets slowly, Nasir turning up his face and marveling at each new delight, the spun glass, the shattered crystals laid out in magical patterns on velvet blankets. Merchants try to entice him, calling out and are delighted when Nasir replies to them, either in common tongue or in Alptraum, getting them to laugh or joke at one another. It’s warm and welcoming, a strange sense of belonging settling over them that does not fully reach their time in the castle. Although they’ve promised to continue this game of acquaintances, Agron cannot help brushing his fingers over Nasir’s wrist from time to time, ushering him forward with gentle hands on his back. 

Passing under a row of rainbow colored canopy drops the couple along a wide street, the tents and stands here further apart. Cut out in an alcove, a group of musicians huddle together in one corner, instruments complicated mixtures of brass and strings. The song they’re weaving is high and lively, a steady beat kept time by a large wooden drum. They’re positioned in a way that leaves a large space before them, enough for the few dancers spinning around, tiny bells tied to their ankles. 

Nasir instantly stops, the grin that had just been spread across his face – the remnants of a joke Agron had whispered to him – slowly dropping off his face. It’s so abrupt Agron doesn’t even notice at first, immune to the dancers, but not to the way Nasir’s fingers suddenly snag around his wrist. Before them, the two men and one woman part from dancing in a small circle, and from the depths of their skirts, a child emerges. 

He must only be six or seven, dark hair braided back in an intricate crown around his head, woven with red cloth and beads. There is a sureness to his steps – working his feet in tight figure eights – that should not be there for a child his age. He’s too confident, spinning in his long skirt, his chest covered in a thick embroidered vest and shirt that laces up the back. Dark eyes shine up from under heavy lashes, the whole effect both mesmerizing but hungry, a cruel desperation behind his smile. 

“Nasir.” Agron isn’t sure what to say, unable, for once, to read his husband’s expression. 

Unresponding, Nasir sinks to a crouch, holding out his hand in an offering of a few gold coins. The boy moves to him instinctively, taking the money before suddenly surging forward and wrapping his arms around Nasir’s neck. He hugs the king tightly, and above his head, Nasir’s eyes dart to Agron and then away, glossy in a way that Agron knows threatens something else. The boy is about to pull away, unhooking his grip, when Nasir suddenly leans forward, hand snatching around the boy’s wrist. 

“What is your name?” Nasir asks first in Alptraum and then again in the common tongue. 

“Caravaggio.” The boy’s voice is scratchy and thick, craning his face up to look at where Agron is looming just behind Nasir’s shoulder and then back down. 

“Well, Caravaggio, I’m going to teach you a valuable lesson.” Reaching his fingers into the boy’s sleeve, Nasir slowly draws out a gold chair, a tiny wolf charm dangling against the clasp. Agron inhales sharply, the rush of anger overwhelming before he hears Nasir continue. 

“Never go for the chain closest to the man’s throat – it is always the most important and he will notice it instantly.” Nasir traces a finger down the boy’s neck, gentle and educational.

“A man displays his most expensive and prize worthy jewels at the center of his chest and stomach.” Nasir points to the places on his own body, pressing between the edges of his robe to his bare skin. “Where he thinks the eyes of slaves and lesser should be.”

Hooking the chain around his throat again, Nasir keeps his eyes on the boy, willing him to understand. It is something that Agron cannot understand, his hand warm and solid on Nasir’s shoulder. No one has paused around them, still milling around, shouting to one another. After a moment, Caravaggio nods, curling his pale fingers in the frilly cuffs of his sleeves. He twists his mouth in distaste a moment later, standing up taller in a false sense of pride. 

“And the rest?”

“Keep them.” Nasir waves his hand absentmindedly, releasing the boy. “Be the one to feed your family tonight.”

“As if you would know of such a thing.” The boy snarls back, crossing his heavy arms now across his thin chest. It is a sharp tongue, one that Agron recognizes on Nasir himself, back when he was younger and still thought the world was out to own him. Nasir doesn’t flinch from the words, but instead places his hands in his lap They are far enough away from other people that Caravaggio can’t be overheard, and yet he still stares up at the pair as if he’s gotten away with something he shouldn’t have. 

“I know better than you think.”

Adjusting his hood over his hair, Nasir loops his arm through Agron’s and tugs. He nearly succeeds hiding the tremble in his hands, blindly walking them forward. Agron takes over when Nasir nearly bumps into one of the guards, instead tugging him towards where two houses split, an alley appearing between the smooth stone. He guides them back until they fall into shadow, hidden by billowing of clean sheets left out to dry. 

“Nasir,” Agron grumbles, rubbing his hands over his face.

“Do not raise tone to me,” Nasir rests his back against the stone wall. “They were bobbles, trinkets even. I did nothing wrong.”

“Why did you let him rob you? I could have easily retrieved your jewelry from the boy.” Agron doesn’t snap exactly, but he keeps his voice low and sharp. “We could have just given him money instead.”

“Look at me,” Nasir replies, shrugging one shoulder as he readjusts his tunic. “I will go home tonight to my warm rooms, to the comfort of a real bed, to a meal and my safe and cared for son. I will fall asleep safe and loved beside you, and I will wake again to a day of hope. But to that boy, to his family, there are no guarantees. There is no promise between one meal and the next. There is no fire in the hearth.”

Dragging in a slow breath, Agron leans against the opposite wall. He can feel the cold press of leather armor against his back, unable to stop from wearing at least some armor. There is a shaft of light that streaks across the wall where Nasir is leaning, reflecting over his shoulder and down onto his chest. It flickers across the gold wolf charm hidden again his throat – a reminder of where they’ve come from and where they stand now.

“You cannot save the world, my love. You are one man.” Agron frowns deeply, seeing the pain etched in Nasir’s brow. 

“I know that, but I will not let it suffer when opportunity presents itself. I am not so far up that I cannot recognize where I once stood.”

Whatever retort Agron had about laws and regulations dies as Nasir reaches up and gently fingers the charm resting between his collarbones. Agron can still remember the way the small boy had danced up to him, proud and not that unlike Caravaggio, wrapping his arms around Agron’s neck. Nasir had been grinning behind his veil when he flipped it up, pressing his small mouth against Agron’s in a quick kiss before retreating with a giggle and every piece of jewelry Agron was wearing. 

“Your heart is more pure and more worthy than anyone I have ever met.” Agron murmurs, warmth once again filling his chest. 

"I do not always feel it," Nasir takes a deep breath, wrinkling his brow. “Ashur says I have changed. That my heart has grown darker.”

"Do not let your brother's words weigh on you. They are wrong. I know who you are." Agron gently taps the tip of Nasir's chin with his fingers. "Besides, we are not those people anymore, remember?" Agron straights up. "Remember Tiberius? I am just your longtime friend. Here on holiday together."

“As if we could ever be longtime friends and nothing else.” Nasir’s smirk is wily, the darkness from just a moment ago fading to light.

“I fear you may be right.”

Reaching out, Agron gently wraps his hand around the back of Nasir’s neck and pulls him forward, kissing him slow and deep. Out of the light of the marketplace, the two can take a singular moment, a breath where Agron can caress the soft curls at Nasir’s nape and Nasir can raise up on his toes, fingers desperate in the front of Agron’s tunic. 

It shatters in the next moment as a loud whistle calls from above them, a few women and men hanging out of a window, shutters thrown open. It is clear from their gauzy, scantily clad bodies what type of building the kings have found themselves between. One of the men – thin and bare chested with a cascade of long blond hair – waves to them, blowing a kiss. 

"What do you think, my king? Should I purchase him for you?" Nasir is grinning again, scheming and bright, as he walks his fingers up Agron's chest. "Someone to kneel at your feet and stroke your cock? Another man to lie between us, letting you bury yourself inside of him?"

Agron can feel Nasir pressing against him, fingers dancing over the laces of his pants. Above them, the boy lets himself hang out from the window sill, naked and soft in the afternoon light. He eyes both of them with practiced hunger, but Agron cannot take his eyes off his husband.

"A very tempting offer," Agron agrees, leaning forward to bite Nasir's earlobe. "But one I would turn down every time. I would much rather see you sprawled in my bed, alone and waiting, then a thousand beautiful boys."

Nasir grins, flushing pretty and pink across his cheeks. “You flatter just as well with that tongue as you do everything else with it.”

Reaching down, Nasir squeezes their fingers together. It's hidden by the billowing fabric of their cloaks, and Nasir is quick to pull away, ducking his head once again. Scurrying to the mouth of the alley, Agron has no choice but to follow him once again into the bustling streets of Galena. On the outskirts of the main market though, they are able to walk slower, Agron whispering facts about the architecture, the art, and the people that crowd the busy walk ways. 

They find themselves strolling past a small temple, the tall arch ways left open so that passerby can see inside. Perched in the center of an altar, a large man lays naked on his side, his face calm and surean, covered by a stone blanket of wolf fur. The head of the wolf rests on the man as if a hood as his torso is resting on the knees of a woman. She is naked as well except for the deep crescent moon carved into her chest. Even from the distance, it is clear that her skin has been painted silver, while the man is bronze. 

“I feel as if we should offer them some sort of gift, but I don’t know how.” Nasir hesitates, glancing between the statues and his husband. 

“We give sacrifices to them every day just by being alive and carrying on their legacy.” Agron touches Nasir’s shoulder gently. “We do not worship our gods the same way you do. They observe, but they are not part of us. The only legacy we pass down in through king’s blood.”

“You told me you didn’t believe in gods once, is that true?” Nasir raises his head back, looks at Agron through a furrowed brow. 

“I didn’t.” Agron glances down at Nasir and then back up, bowing his head in respect. “And then I watched one save my life by capturing and burning a vampire alive. I do not think all the icons and statues we have around this city are real. They do not listen to me, aid me when I cry for their help. And yet, I have seen more works of godly magic than any other man. I have seen rain form out of thin air, flowers burst from the ground, a child that should be impossible be born and take in his first breath. I know gods, Nasir, just not the ones my people wish to know.”

He pushes them forward again, gently leading Nasir towards where the shops break up and stores melt into houses. Up ahead, there is a small inn with a pub, secluded enough it does not draw attention. Still, Agron is careful when they enter, stepping in front of Nasir and keeping one hand on his waist, guiding him close to a booth in the corner. 

The bar maid is shapely, fierce muscles carved out in her arms and chest from lifting heavy trays and tankards all day. Her brow is heavy, sagging with the weight of years of wrinkles that fold around her full mouth, laughter etched forever in her skin. She is something to behold, and Nasir has to lightly kick Agron’s ankle under the table to reminded him not to stare. It’s counterproductive though as Agron easily wraps his foot around Nasir’s, pinning it in a quick shuffle. 

“Welcome to Seanan’s. What will it be?” The woman’s voice is high, pretty in its cadence as she wipes her long fingered hands on her apron. 

“Two tankards and two meals.” Agron produced a coin out of nowhere it seems, sliding it across the table. “And let us not run dry.”

The woman curtsies quickly, picking the coin and stuffing it down her shirt before turning away with a swish of her heavy skirts. It is dark in the corner, a single candle on the table flickering light, and it does its job poorly. Dark shadows dance across Nasir’s face, the flame reflecting unnaturally gold in his eyes. He’s been stationed with a purpose, Agron’s back to the wall so he can see out into the tavern itself. 

“Is this another one of your old teenage haunts?” Nasir pulls one of the long crackers from the bowl on the table, fiddling with it. “Come here often to play darts and chase skirts?”

“More that I came here to drink until Spartacus and Crixus were forced to drag me back to the castle.” Agron grins ruefully at his husband. “I’m sure trying to sneak me into the castle was a task in itself.”

“You always make your childhood sound so exciting.” Nasir says, grinning. “I can almost imagine you at sixteen. Some celebrated prince, talented and shining in your glory, the pride and joy of the land. People must have looked at you and swooned instantly.”

They have to pause the conversation in order for the bar maid to set their tankards on the table. They’re filled to the top, foam pouring down the side from the depths of murky amber liquid, scent strong. She retreats again with a soft thank you from Nasir, who is then met with Agron openly staring at him. It’s clear what the other man wants, and with a quick inhale, Nasir sits forward and slurps off the top of the mug. It’s sharp and bitter taste explodes in Nasir’s mouth, dry and brittle as if he’s swallowed thick syrup without the sugar. Agron nearly knocks the candle off the table as he laughs, having to duck his head to avoid the cracker Nasir tosses at him. 

“Fuck that’s awful!” Nasir sputters as he recoils, resisting the urge to wipe his tongue on his cloak. “How can you drink that?”

“The taste will lessen over time,” Agron reassures, muffling his snickers behind his wrist as he reaches for his own cup.

“What is this?” Nasir peers into the cup again, nose and mouth wrinkled in distaste. 

“Beer, made from turnips, rye, and some other ingredient that always escaped me. It’s the ‘lesser man’s drink’ or so my father called it.” Agron shrugs, taking a heavy gulp of his own. “You will like it after a while.”

“Perhaps I should just stick to wine.”

Nasir eyes him disbelieving, fingernails picking at the carvings of the mug. They're two men dancing, a large fire and kettle between them. It reflects the atmosphere of the place, the fire burning warm in the hearth on the far wall, drunken laughter erupting every few minutes, a few musicians in the corner. There is an exceptionally loud group by the dart boards a few yards away from where Agron and Nasir sit, slapping one another and shouting in thick Alptraum. 

"To answer your question from earlier," Agron wipes at his mouth, drawing Nasir's attention back to him, "I imagine that I was much less desirable than you are painting me out to be. You must remember, Gerulf was still my father at sixteen and I had already been a decorated warrior and hunter from as early as five. My teenage self was much more awkward and scrawny than you would believe."

"I don't know. I've heard stories of you seducing foreign diplomats, the gang of boys that used to follow you around, begging for your attention," Nasir grins again, wrinkles at the sides of his eyes. “Spartacus tells me that you used to hide in his rooms to get away from them, begging Spartacus to send them away.”

“I never begged.” Agron snorts. “I was the most eligible bachelor in the land, one of power only due to my birth right. Of course they followed me. I doubt that they did it at all for anything but my title.”

“You have other qualities.” Nasir’s eyes dip to the table, as if he can see through it. “I have seen it.”

"And let me guess. You at sixteen was snarky, spoiled, and very, very aware of how beautiful you are." Agron replies, gazing at Nasir over the top of his tankard. "I bet you spent hours just brushing your hair, day dreaming about some far away castle."

"I was never that vain." Nasir rolls his eyes, pushing a stray hair from his face. “Besides, I spent most of the summer of my sixteen year running around sweating and attempting to strengthen my magic. I doubt I attracted anyone.”

“I was when I first saw you,” Agron gazes over at Nasir, eyes warm and smirking. “Hiding behind Pietros in your veil and those pants, so curious and powerful when you healed my wrist. Fuck, the way you stared at me. I thought I was burning up from the inside out.”

“You had a very similar effect,” Nasir confesses, ducking his head. “I had never seen a man look at me like that, so boldly, as if we were the only ones standing there. I had never felt so stripped before. I didn’t even care that Mika and Jem were furious at me for coming with them. I wanted more.”

“Watching you dance.” Agron nods to himself, fingers spinning on the table. “I knew the moment you stepped out of that flower that I needed to have you, needed to know what made you so bold to stare at me like that.”

“Did I stare?” Nasir asks, musing over it, “I seem to remember your eyes on me.”

“How could I not stare? You jumped on my table,” Agron’s voice dips, gruff and deep in his chest. “It wasn’t just the way you looked, it was the way you felt, sliding into my lap like that. I could feel the fire between us, that spark that happens sometimes with our magic.”

“It was a sign,” Nasir flickers a small bead of light out from his fingertips, the magic swirling over Agron’s palm before disappearing. “I’m surprised I didn’t ignite when you touched me. It has happened before. When I was first pregnant and the magic was raw, you would walk by and flames would burn up through my spine.”

“Nasir,” Agron chokes the name out, having to duck his head when suddenly the barmaid appears again. He doesn’t do it quick enough for Nasir to miss the way his eyes are glowing, the effect eerie in the darkness of the bar. She sets the plates on the table, making companionable small talk to Nasir before scurrying away again, but not without a backwards glance towards the table. 

They fall into comfortable silence, picking their way through the heavily gray coated meal. Agron ends up stealing all of Nasir's meat, snatching it with a quick fork before Nasir can begin to complain. Pushing the milky sweet potatoes back onto Nasir's plate with a grimace, Agron also keeps his eye towards the end of the table, watching as the woman returns again and again to fill their glasses. After the third one, Nasir seems to become looser, sipping slower and not grimacing as much.

It's one of the few times they've forgotten themselves all day, being so careful to not appear too familiar. Agron keeps brushing his knuckles over Nasir’s when he reaches for things, staring openly and with naturally colored eyes. Nasir for his part attempts to act natural and careful, blush hidden in the dark but his lip caught between his teeth giving it all away. They are too enthralled with one another, and miss the way the man saunters over from the darts - drunk and fuzzy around the edges. 

"You there!" The man's meaty hand collides with the wooden table edge. "Don't I know your face?"

Nasir looks up startled, jolting enough that his hood falls back to pool around his neck. He doesn't miss the way Agron instinctively reaches for the knife on the table, already expecting the worse, hackles up and guarded. Nasir is too drunk to think that fast, instead, he slowly stops chewing, fork suspended in midair. 

"You are mistaken." Agron isn't growling yet, but his voice dips dangerously. “Go back to your meal.”

"No. I've seen you before." The man reaches for Nasir's jaw, drunk and fumbling in his movements. "I know you!"

“I do not take to repeating myself.” Agron replies, turning more in his seat. “You do not know him. Now see yourself back to your table.”

“Oh fuck off.” The man stumbles closer, bracing one knee on the bench seat and reaching for Nasir again. His large hands smudged with grit and grime bump recklessly against Nasir’s cheek. “You have a face I should remember. Are you one of those boys that lingers on Pedest Street?”

"You must have seen me in the market," Nasir replies, leaning out of the man's touch, foot pressing into Agron's calf to keep him still. "I'm Tiberius. I sell fine linens and silks."

"No," the man pauses, scratching the side of his face. "That's not it. Why not come out of that dark so I can take a full look at you."

"I assure you, it is." Agron pointedly leans towards the candle, the flame reflecting his eyes a golden green. "Now _fucking_ remove yourself or I will be gladly escort you back to your fucking table."

"And who are you? His father?" The man nudges his elbow back towards his companions, managing to hit one in the side. "Look at this shit. Ordering me around like he's King Agron himself."

Agron and Nasir share a look, silent but knowing. 

“King Agron, eh? Doubt that shit ever comes out of his castle now.” Comes the reply from the table, uproarious laughter following. “Not with the way he’s set.”

“I heard there’s a line outside of his bed chamber, the whole court waits to catch glimpses of him and that boy.” A man slams his hands down on the table. “Mighty convenient that he gets himself a magician for a husband and suddenly his father is dead, brother stepped down, and even Spartacus has left his side. No one to compete for the crown now.”

“What do you think of that, sweet?” The man is leaning in again on Nasir, slapping his companion’s arm, “Would you want to bed him?”

"And who the fuck is this?" The companion has turned, a bushy black beard covering his face. Nasir instantly recoils, through drunken eyes, seeing someone else entirely. The man doesn't seem to notice, leaning into the booth. "You do look familiar. I never forget a face like that. Didn’t you used to dance?”

Many things happen at once. The man reaches his large hands into Nasir's cloak, gripping the front of his shirt and tugging firmly. It digs his nails into Nasir's shoulder with the way he's tugging, breaking skin. Across from them, Agron growls fully, attempting to move without tipping the table over onto Nasir. It isn't needed, as through Nasir's drunken haze, all he sees is Gerulf. Gripping his fork in a tight fist, Nasir swings up and digs the metal prongs into the man's cheek. He rears back in response, knocking into his other companions and sending a few tables scattering in their wake. 

"Go!" 

Agron is out of the booth after them, reaching over to snag Nasir's hand and pull him quickly from the seat. They've caused a commotion, the pub quickly descending into a brawl from drunkards knocking into one another. Agron barely dodges a chair to the back, ducking around the swing. It slams him into a wall, pushing Nasir in front of him and then up a flight of stairs just as someone reaches for their swords. 

Leading them through the complicated twists and turns of the upstairs halls, Nasir has to back track only once. Each room is numbered, the lighting in the hall dark enough that only shadows and looming candles can be seen. He finally manages to find an unlocked room, throwing the door open and shoving Agron inside. He follows a moment after, making sure to switch the lock over before collapsing back against the rough, untreated wood.

The room is simple in its design, a large bed shoved into one corner, the foot and headboards made of bundled logs. A large fur blanket has been laid on top, the color a tawny and copper. Someone has had the foresight to light a fire in the hearth, though it has gone unattended and burned low. A single window exists in the far wall, wide enough for the rising moon to peak through. 

“Fuck,” Agron whispers, reaching forward to gently drag his thumb across Nasir’s cheek. He pulls it away, the digit covered in blood, before lapping it away. 

“I didn’t-“ Nasir pants, shaking his head, "I didn't even think."

"He'll survive." Agron leans forward, forearms resting on the door beside Nasir's head. "That was incredibly impressive though. Spartacus was right. You are turning into a very fierce warrior."

"I am." Nasir blushes, pleased. "I am very vicious."

"I know."

Agron cannot wait any longer, hooking one hand around the back of Nasir's neck and tilting his head up to kiss him. They're mouths meld, warm and familiar, turning chaste presses to deeper. Agron drags his tongue along Nasir's teeth, nips at his bottom lip in a tease. He knows what sets Nasir off as the other man lets out a shaky moan, melting back against the door. 

Without the interruption of others, Nasir is able to relax and reply, hands skirting along Agron's chest, leaning into the kisses even more as Agron's tongue fucks into his mouth, a steady beat that makes Nasir's head swim. It seems to stretch into infinity, the colliding of their bodies, scents mingling and a starburst of magic swelling in both of them until it escapes in a shower of gold over Agron's shoulder. He drags his mouth over, leaving a trail biting kisses, Agron attaches Nasir's neck in a vicious series of sucking bites.

"Agron!" Nasir hisses, body writhing in pleasure. He draws in a shaky breath. "Oh fuck. Please."

Reaching up, Agron uses Nasir's distraction to quickly untie the laces at his throat, yanking on the thick fabric of the cloak until it pools at their feet. He steps back then, puts half a breath between them in order to push his own hood down, stripping his cloak off his shoulders and tossing it to the side. With the gap between them, both men are able to pant with ease, eyes tracking over one another. It has been a long time since they were alone, isolated without a servant or Malik needing them. The thought seems to strike both of them at the same time and then Agron is back, reaching down to grip under Nasir's ass, lifting him into the air. 

Nasir wraps his legs around Agron's waist, arms looped over his shoulders and fingers in Agron's hair. He can barely breathe, overwhelmed and drunk for a whole new reason as Agron slams them back against the wood again, grinding up against Nasir's ass. The stretch of unfamiliar cotton over Nasir's legs is uncomfortable, confining and rough, but he can feel every movement that Agron is making. The thick drag of Agron's cock against him, hips bucking and slamming into the soft underside of Nasir's though. They're both moving too quickly and yet not quickly enough. 

"Bed?" Breathless, Nasir's head thuds against the wooden door as Agron assaults his neck, leaving another trail of teeth marks and sucking kisses. 

Agron doesn't answer the question in words. Instead, he takes a slow step back, adjusting one arm around Nasir's hips and then one arched up his back, cradling him. It still surprises Nasir that Agron is this strong, beyond what his muscular body supplies. There is strength that comes from his wolf magic, from his status, the way Agron only seems to have grown bigger since the Wolf Moon. 

Releasing from around his neck, Nasir slides his hands over to the front, fidgeting with the leather clasps of Agron's armor, attempting to get it off. He only manages a few buckles before Agron steps to the side, using his grip to push Nasir back and onto the bed. The force bounces him, sprawled out along the width of the bed with a laugh. 

"Fuck the gods, you are stunning." Hooking a hand over his chest, Agron is able to expertly undo the buckles, the harness falling to the ground with a thud.

"So are you." Nasir means for it to be cheeky, biting the tip of his tongue at Agron.

"Am I?" Sliding his hand down his stomach, Agron tangled his fingers in the front of his pants. 

He teases Nasir, untying the knot at the top and then slowly, excruciatingly, drags his fingers down. The laces separate in tandem, fabric splitting open first to reveal smooth skin bumped by strong veins until the pants come part at the top of sandy curls. Pushing himself up on his elbows, Nasir stares at Agron as he hooks his thumbs in the leather, slowly dragging the pants down and down. Past the sharp v cut of hips, the muscled thighs cut deep with definition, over the long cock that bobs red and leaking already. 

"Fuck." Nasir finds himself gasping, face heating up as Agron wraps a fist around the base, giving it a few experimental strokes. 

He seems to take the word as an invitation, crawling slow and predatory onto the bed, caging Nasir down against the furs with his arms and legs. Nasir melts under him, hands caressing everywhere they can reach, mouth falling open on a moan when Agron lowers even further to kiss Nasir. It's not the same as before. Agron takes his time, playing teasing and coy as he slows down, tongue caressing against Nasir's, gently flicking at his tip. 

Locking his knees against Agron's hips, Nasir manages to ease them over, steadying himself on his knees over his husband. From this angle, Nasir can see the light flush to Agron's chest, his eyes dazed and glassy, glowing just slightly in the dim room. They snap to focus when Nasir unties the front of his tunic, throwing the fabric to the side. 

Instantly Agron's hands are up, caressing over Nasir's sternum, counting ribs, before trailing his fingers over to Nasir's nipples. They are not as red today, though they still leak a few stray droplets when Agron massages at them. He's quick to lap the liquid away with a smirk, rolling his hips up to meet Nasir's. 

Everything feels slow, as if they're moving through thick time. Agron cannot seem to get enough, caressing his hands, fingers, and mouth over every inch of Nasir he can reach. He seems intent to count every mark, taste every inch of him. It's overwhelming to Agron sometimes just how much he loves the man on top of him. 

"Agron," Nasir gasps, allowing the other man to lift him just long enough for his pants to be kicked off, finally laying completely bare together. "Agron wait."

Collapsing back against the blankets, Agron respectfully lays his hands down flat beside him, staring up at Nasir with a furrowed brow. Even after all this time, all he needs to hear is some complaint and Agron will stop every time. 

"I just thought," Nasir drags one finger down Agron's chest, "since it's our anniversary. I thought you should know. I'm glad it was you."

Slowly, Agron sits up, using both of his hands to cup Nasir's face. He kisses his forehead first, a soft press to between his eyebrows, and then another right after to his upturned mouth. This one, he keeps chaste, but lets the emotion fill him. 

"I'm glad it was you too." He whispers, tangling in the few curls by Nasir's cheek, "There never has and never will be anyone else."

When they melt back into kissing, Agron rolls them over, pressing Nasir against the pillows. He works his way down, sucking slowly at Nasir's chest, teasing his nipple in kitten licks before moving lower. There is no rush here. No, Agron takes his time, worships each part of Nasir that he can reach, tastes and touches as if this is something more, something holy. Nasir instinctively spreads his legs around Agron, moaning low again when his mouth attaches to one of his hipbones. 

When Agron takes him down, he doesn't try for finesse. Instead, he slides down quick and dirty, instantly sucking hard to get Nasir to cry out for him. It works, Nasir's heels dragging up the fur as he tries not to scurry away. Agron knows him though, knows what makes him tick, and he pulls out all the stops. He sucks quick and hard, laving his tongue over and over Nasir's tip, lapping up the constantly leaking precome. 

Nasir can barely stand it, fingers wound tight in Agron's hair, hips instinctively bucking to entice Agron's fingers behind. It works, Agron's middle finger finding his perineum and rubbing quick and small circles all along the nerves and then back, teasing at his opening. The oil comes from nowhere it seems, but between one breath and another, Agron is back up against Nasir’s side, kissing him slow and gentle while he slides two fingers in to the hilt. 

“Love you Agron. I really do.” Nasir mumbles against Agron’s mouth, spreading his knees up and higher. He moans in the next moment when Agron spreads his fingers, rotating his fingertips on Nasir’s inner walls, searching. 

“You have no idea how much.” 

Agron’s reply is muffled as he buries his face back in Nasir’s neck, rutting his cock slowly and in time with his fingers. Nasir can feel the precome spreading across his hips, his thighs, fingers tracing up and down Agron’s spine. He begins to ride Agron’s fingers, pressing down against his hand and then up, creating a tighter friction for Agron’s cock to slide through. It fits between the groove of Nasir’s hip and his thigh, slicked by sweat, and Nasir reaches down every few moments and squeezes the tip. 

“I want to be inside you.” Agron gasps, hot breath ghosting over Nasir’s ear. “Fuck, your body was made for mine. I can’t wait any longer. Nasir.”

“Please.” Nasir chokes out, tightening his arms around Agron’s shoulders, “Please Agron. Oh fuck. I need you so much.”

Agron begins the mantra of ‘I love you’ as a whisper against Nasir’s temple, pulling himself up far enough on his knees that he has room. His fingers leave a trail of oil across Nasir’s thigh, gripping it tightly as Agron lines up. Suspended like this, they’re sharing the same breath, staring at one another as if this is the first time all over again, that everything is new and raw and powerful. Magic crackles between them, a flame over Nasir’s trembling lips and Agron ducks to catch it, pushing agonizingly slow. 

There is no space on Nasir’s body that seems not to be touching Agron, laid flush against one another, Agron’s weight a heavy, grounding point that pushes Nasir deep within the furs. They can feel each other’s exhales, the shudders of pleasure as Agron’s hips press flesh and he exhales a curse against the corner of Nasir’s mouth. It feels as if all the numbers have slipped off a clock, everything meaningless and dim outside of their joined bodies, the shiver of metallic that races from Nasir’s skin to Agron’s and then back. Over and over again, only picking up even more as Agron begins to grind his hips down. 

He doesn’t pull back and thrust, too addicted to being so close to Nasir, feeling his breath across Agron’s sweaty face. Instead Agron lingers close, small presses of his hips forward and back, over and over, grinding his cock deep within Nasir. He knows when he pushes against Nasir’s prostate, the man below him crying out, palms sweaty as they caress over Agron’s face. Agron shifts to aim for it again, skirting across the bundle of nerves and then pressing to it, feeling Nasir’s walls tighten down him. 

Nasir presses up against him, writhes as he locks his ankles at the small of Agron’s back and hisses low and needy. They haven’t made love like this in a long time, the slow presses of bodies and tongues, kissing slow as if they have all the time to take. Nasir feels woven into pleasure, as if every twist of their bodies is racing him towards some end, some higher moment when they will finally tip and melt into one. He can feel the heat pooling already in the base of his spine, sliding sweaty palms over Agron’s spine, wanting to never stop touching him.

“I’m close,” Nasir whispers, dazed and warm as he sucks on the edge of Agron’s jaw. 

Agron shifts then, rests his forearm beside Nasir's head and angles his hips so he can go faster. It gives him the angle to brush Nasir's hair off his face, leaning down to gently kiss his forehead. It's such a juxtaposition between the heavy weight of his body, the hard and deep presses of his cock inside of Nasir, the way Agron's body is trembling from holding back his own orgasm. When Nasir suddenly comes, it's not with a cry, but instead a hiss that tappers quickly to soft mews and whimpers - overwhelmed as he clings to Agron's back. 

Trailing his fingertips down Nasir's cheek, Agron rests his palm in the center of his chest, the pad of his middle finger pressing lightly against Nasir's wolf charm. He can feel Nasir's body tightening down on him, urging him deeper, harder, and Agron can do nothing but give in. He keeps slow but puts his weight behind his thrusts, pressing harder inside of Nasir until it is too much. Pleasure coils hot and burning in Agron's stomach, spilling over with a thick growl. He knows his eyes are glowing, but he still can't seem to close them, gaze locked with Nasir's. Ribbons of gold expand out from his palm and dance across Nasir's glistening skin, a surging of magic between them that almost seems to glow.

"Oh!" Nasir's eyes go wide, fingers caressing over and over through Agron's hair. " _Agron, fuck._ "

He doesn't loosen his grip on Agron, instead he tugs on him, pulling Agron down until the larger man blankets over him. He doesn't put down all his weight, being careful and gentle, but Agron still holds Nasir flat, skin pressed to skin. Laid together like this, it's easy to move from panting to slow kisses, moaning and gasping against one another. It feels as if it will never end, both too entranced by one another to pull away.

"You are perfect," Agron mumbles after some times, hips still twitching as his body seems to refuse to come down. "I just want to lay like this forever."

"Buried inside of me?" Nasir muses, nuzzling against Agron's neck. "I would not complain. I am sure even when you pull out that I will still feel you for days after."

Agron draws Nasir into a kiss, slowly suckling on his bottom lip before releasing him. 

"Sun is nearly set," Nasir gasps into Agron's mouth again. "We should return."

"In a moment." Agron agrees, dropping his head back to mouth gently at Nasir's neck. "The kingdom can wait a little longer."

\- - - 

The way back into the castle seems easier, guards lounging on the top walls and posts more than their usual alert stature. Agron grumbles about it the whole way, cursing Crixus and his men's incompetence. They are supposed to be on high alert, but instead laughter carries through courtyards, followed by quiet whispers. The royal couple easily finds their path undeterred until they're nearly home, slipping out of the servant staircase into the long hallway leading towards the consort's suite. 

"Your majesties!" Solonius is hobbling up the hall, Laeta trailing on his elbow. 

Agron doesn't release Nasir's hand, instead gently pulls his husband behind him. He knows what they must smell like, Nasir more so to keen Alptraum noses. He reeks of fertility and sweat, Agron's seed still drying between his soft thighs. It's proven true as Solonius stops short, eyes widening a little. 

"What is it? King Nasir and I were about to retire." Agron eyes Laeta who is slowly turning pink, eyes seeming to stare into the very center of Agron's chest.

"A messenger has been sitting in your royal study for some time. He will not speak expect to you," Solonius replies, frowning deeply. It casts his whole face in wrinkles. "We could not find you."

"I gave notice to my council that Nasir and I would be busy today." Agron shrugs one shoulder, flippant and careless. "Now that task has been accomplished, I will meet with the man if it is that necessary."

"I do not think, your highness, that now is the appropriate time to be-" Solonius begins, only to be cut off by Agron's sharp laugh. 

"What you think does not concern me. It is within my power to take a day for myself," Agron rolls his eyes. "Or did you expect me to constantly be tied to the throne?"

"No highness." Solonius makes some flourish with his hands, a bow included. 

"We were only worried." Laeta looks between the pair, worrying her bottom lip. 

"Apparently." 

Nasir can feel Agron's arm flexing under his hands, wrapped tight around Nasir's waist. There is some weird sort of tension growing between the four of them, hallway silent but brooding. Easing out from behind Agron, Nasir squeezes his wrist in tandem. 

"I am going to go take care of Malik," Nasir says slowly, dark eyes tracking over Agron's face. 

"I will be in shortly." Leaning over, Agron kisses Nasir's temple, nuzzling against him. He lingers there for a moment, hands warm on the sides of Nasir's neck – both an apology and a promise. 

Turning, Nasir is nearly to the entrance of his suite when Agron's voice filters into his mind, liquid heat sliding down him. 

_Wait up. We still have a few hours of our anniversary to celebrate._

Agron waits until Nasir turns back, face rosy and eyes wide, before turning on his heel and heading downstairs. It is an easy tease, a ploy, and Agron has every intention of cashing in on his taunt. His body still burns for it, the drowning oasis that happens when Nasir and Agron collide. 

It's the worst distraction and the best, Agron's mind fuzzy with thoughts of Nasir's smooth skin, his dark eyes. Solonius and Laeta trail quickly behind him, lingering close enough Agron feels like he can sense their breath on his back. Even distracted and warm, Agron begins to realize something is off. Every hallway he passes barely has a guard to it, windows dark except for the candles that line the ones in the consort suite. No servants scurry around, opening and closing drapes or fixing lamps. There isn’t even the nearly silent padding of random cats, dogs that inhabit the hallways. The castle instead is eerily quiet, still as if holding its breath. 

"Where is Crixus and Naevia? Duro? My uncle?" Agron pauses in the main hall, the tall stained glass windows dark. There is no moon tonight. “It is unlike them not to be here.”

"I do not know majesty. They all retired early from what I recall," Solonius replies. He's moved a few feet away, back towards the main door. “If you require them, I can send-“

“Don’t worry about it.” Agron turns slowly on his heel, eying the room. There is a single guard by the wall, slouched against it – appearing asleep. Agron does not have the energy to yell at him, though anger burns bright in chest.

"Here, let me take your cloak, highness. You must be weary." Laeta's hands are quick over Agron's shoulders, easing the black fabric down and to the side. She seems to be searching for something, eyes trailing down his sides before folding the fabric over her arms. 

"Thank you," Agron glances around. It is so quiet even his breath seems loud. "Well, where is this messenger?"

"Through here." Solonius motions towards a door to the left, one of many of Agron’s royal studies. The door has been left open, heavy mahogany looming thick and engraved. Inside, it is dark except for a few candles in the center of the table; their light flickers weakly having been burning for some time. Agron can barely see the shadow of a figure sitting at the table, large hunched shoulders and a shock of wild hair. Every single hair on the back of Agron’s neck stands on end, instincts screaming for him not to enter the room. He does not have time for it though. A king is never afraid to do his duty. Pulling his wits about him, Agron shakes off the looming nerves and steps through the threshold, wanting nothing more than to get this over with and retreat back to his rooms and to his husband. 

"Greetings. What message do you-" 

The words die on Agron's tongue, fall away between one consonant and another. Staring through the shadows, three sets of eyes gleaming back at him, the figures they belong to seeming to meld with the dark itself. They reflect off the candle light, but even in the pitch dark Agron can see the red glimmer. The smell hits him next, fresh blood and dead flesh, as the nearest vampire softly hisses. 

Agron shifts between one breath and the next, his growl thick in his chest as his fangs extend, claws bursting from his fingertips. Flight or fight kicks in, pausing him from completely wolfing out but he can feel his eyes glowing in the dark. Every moment leading up to this comes down on him, the empty halls, the absence of his friends, the way Laeta’s eyes had trailed over him, accessing him for weapons. Even the three vampires in his home, slowly standing from their crouch gives it away. This was a setup, a trap that Agron foolishly charged into.

“Solonius,” Agron curves his hands down, nails gleaming sharp. “What is the meaning of this?”

“You were never fit to rule,” Solonius spits, bitter and acidic. “Your father would be disgusted to see you now.”

“You are going to die for this. I am going to rip out your fucking heart.” Agron hunches his shoulders, feels the fabric of his tunic stretching over his muscles. 

"Don't worry, Agron." Solonius stands in the doorway, grin hidden by the light behind him. "It is an honorable death for an Alptra King to die in battle. The same cannot be said for the rest of your house."

"You fuck!" Agron roars, attempting to charge back towards the door but Solonius slams it in his face. Something shoves against the outside, blocking it, but Agron doesn't get a chance to attempt to dislodge it as the three vampires behind him attack.

\- - - 

Padding silently across the room, Nasir sit down on the stool before his mirror, reaching for one of his combs. He's left the door the nursery slightly open, Malik's soft snores and the crackling of the fire filling the room. When Nasir had returned, Chadara was nearly asleep in the rocking chair, the little prince suckling on the edge of his fur blanket and lost in dreams as well. Nasir had not been able to resist leaning in and gently stroking his curls, kissing his upturned face. Malik holds Nasir in the palm of his tiny fist; Nasir’s heart swollen and full of love for him that no one will ever replace. It seems all is calm in the suite, Nasir having sent the woman to her own bed and had a quick bath of his own. 

Even washed clean, Nasir can still feel the phantom press of Agron's body on his. His body aches with it, sore from Agron fitting inside him, leaving kiss bruises and marks on his throat. Nasir knows they will descend again, as soon as Agron returns, and he's dressed for the occasion. He's pulled on a simple enough pair of black pants, the sides slit so his thighs and calves can peak through, fabric bunching around his ankles again. Not bothering with jewelry or any sort of adornment, Nasir instead works on combing out the curls of his hair. 

Nasir can't help but wonder if it will always be like this, day dreaming of a life filled with long days under a bright sun, Malik's giggling laughter and bright eyes, or Agron's hand fitting exactly into Nasir's. Their life is all before them, a long passage that they need only begin to walk. Nasir is so caught up in the thought that he barely registers the movement behind him, startling hard when he catches the reflection in his mirror. 

"You were gone for a very long time today, brother." Ashur looks horrific in the strange light, back lit from the fire and yet his cheeks and forehead seem bright, casting his eyes into shadows. He appears as if a ghoul with darkness cloaking around him. 

"Ashur! You frightened me. Why do you linger in the dark like that?" Nasir gently sets his comb down, turning on his seat. He feels his face begin to heat at being caught like this, half naked and warm, waiting for Agron to return and take him back to bed. Nasir still cannot get used to Ashur seeing him like this, as a man and not a boy, married and belonging both in heart and body to someone else. It is a far distance they have come since the boys who used to ride in wagons, dreaming of some different life. 

"Agron and I went down to the markets today." Nasir resists the urge to cross his arms over his chest, even if the chill in the room is beginning to raise goosebumps on his arms. “It is our anniversary today. I did not know even what that was until he told me.”

“Anniversary? Of what?” Ashur asks, raising his eyebrows. 

“We’ve been married a year, it seems.” Nasir feels the delighted smile spreading across his face. “It does not feel as such though. I can still remember our wedding as if it were only a few moments ago.”

“You would celebrate being sold to your husband?” Ashur hums in disapproval, then his trademark smirk stretches across his face. “Has the slave learned to love the master?”

“You know it’s not like that.” Nasir stands, moving quickly over to his side of the room and snatching a long white robe up. It’s embroidered on the sleeves and shoulders, tiny rhinestones making up constellations. “I wish you would not say such things to me. Agron is a good man and I love him very much. You need to give him a chance.”

"Apologies. Come have a drink with me." Ashur motions towards the main suite. "And break words with your older brother."

"Oh. I-" Nasir hesitates. He knows that Agron should be back soon, Malik alone in his nursery, but one drink shouldn't hurt. Nasir cannot deny the simple act, especially to his beloved brother. "Alright, but only one. Agron should be coming up soon."

Ashur doesn't say anything, instead turns on his heel and heads towards the large door. When he enters the main room, he's quick to go to the bottles of wine in the corner, back blocking Nasir's view. It's no matter. Nasir isn't picky with the Alptraum wine and instead settles at the table, crossing his legs. The whole apartment is cold, almost as if the balcony doors in the bedroom have been left open. Nasir makes a mental note to go check when he retires there. The windows in the main suite are all shut, though the curtains are wide open, a candle in each one reflecting gold back into the room. 

"No moon tonight," Nasir comments, tapping his nails on the table. “And no clouds.”

"It’s all very dark out there.” 

Ashur returns with two full glasses of wine, setting one down before each of them. Nasir is quick to taste it, humming as the explosion of grape and berries slides over his tongue. It must be a new version, something Nasir has never tasted before, as it twists almost bitter at the end - a linger aftertaste almost bitter. It is not something he plans to sample again, but he doesn't wish to be rude though, taking another large mouthful before smiling at Ashur. It falters when Ashur doesn’t return the gesture, but instead frowns. 

“I’ve been meaning to talk to you for some time, Nasir,” Ashur begins, that nervous, self-assured laugh suddenly appearing as a chuckle in Ashur’s tone. “There is so much that I never got to say to you.”

“We have time now.” Nasir pats Ashur’s hand fondly, drawing away when Ashur recoils. “Tell me what’s on your mind.”

Ashur takes a slow breath through his nose, leaning back in his chair before beginning. It feels almost as if he’s getting ready for a performance, setting the stage and preparing his lines. 

“You were always father’s favorite. I knew that from the moment you were born with that mark upon your back. Fatin was so happy, offering sacrifices and prayers up to the gods, but it all didn’t matter. _The birth of a god, Ashur, in our very own family. We are blessed!_ That was all father would ever tell me. How fucking thankful I should be that you were born.”

Nasir takes another sip of his wine, a strange warm feeling beginning to grow in his chest. It’s not pleasant but instead that moist, thick feeling of dread that sit heavy on top of his ribs.

"But I couldn't. I couldn't be thankful and I couldn't see you as anything but what you were. Another child born to a greedy man and a fallen priestess. He was going to get rid of all of us, you know. He pushed me, Lido, and Kalmar to the side so that you and those disgusting twins would lead our people.

It's why I had to do it. I could not stand to live under you anymore."

Nasir glances towards the door, silently calling out for Agron. He doesn't want to hear Ashur anymore. He doesn't want to know this. He wants to recoil into his rooms, hold his son to his chest and forget that cruelty of the man before him. 

"Why are you saying this to me?" Nasir whispers, words feeling choked from the pressure on his chest. 

"I never was kidnapped, Nasir. I ran away to serve a master that would see my value. That would know I could serve and be of worth." Ashur suddenly slams his hands down on the table, enough that the glasses on top of it nearly topple. "I hated you enough to run away, and yet after all of it, I still was sent to fucking serve you."

Nasir slowly sets his empty wine glass on the table, folding his hands back into his lap. The feeling in his chest has started to spread, hot and burning into his throat and down into his stomach. Something is wrong, and it's not just the pain of Ashur's words. No, Nasir tries to call out with his magic again, but it flickers violently, pain throbbing through his head. 

"Ashur," Nasir's words are slurred, pressing his palm to his forehead, "What have you done?"

"What my king as command I do," Ashur flicks his wrist, a tiny bottle landing on the table. "Caesar is coming to collect his prize and I will be the one to hand over the child."

"What?" Breathless, Nasir pushes back his chair, struggling to make his body understand him. 

"Caesar will have his monster, his weapon, and I will be crowned and rewarded beyond my dreams." 

Ashur moves from around the table to Nasir's side, catching him in a fistful of his hair. He glares down at Nasir, mouth twisted in a snarl. Up close like this, Nasir can see the cold calculation in Ashur's eyes, the hatred that burns through him as he wrenches Nasir's head back. 

"The poison I gave you isn't going to kill you, little brother." Ashur spits the words through his teeth. "No, it is going to do much worse. Your magic is leaving you, slowly dying within. Soon, you will be nothing but pathetically mortal."

Nasir wants to cry, can feel the swelling of it behind his eyes, the bitter taste of betrayal unlike anything he's felt before. He wants it all to be some miserable dream, to wake up and everything is right in the world. It cannot be though and there is no time for wishes as Ashur laughs, using his grip on Nasir's hair to yank and topple the other man to the ground. Nasir doesn't cry out, doesn't scream though his body begs him to, but instead rolls as quickly as he can to the left, using all of his strength to kick into the back of Ashur's knee. The other man crumbles, smacking his head on the table on the way down. 

"I won't let you do this. You can't have my son." Nasir begins crawling towards the bedroom, intent on locking himself in the nursery if he needs to, but Ashur is too quick. He snatches at Nasir's ankle, dragging him back before crawling over the top of him. He manages to stand up then, kicking Nasir hard enough in the ribs to flip him onto his back, crashing into a chair.

Pain shoots up Nasir's side as he tries to roll over, hands scrambling on the plush carpet. The potion has begun to fully take effect now, Nasir's coordination dimming as he manages to get to his feet. Ashur watches it all with a smirk, moving towards the bedroom door. Pulling together all his strength and the rush of adrenaline, Nasir scrambles u, surging forward and snatching a small fruit knife from the table along the wall. 

"Ashur no!" Nasir shouts, stumbling hard into the back of the couch as he swings with his knife. All of Spartacus and Crixus' training could not prepare him for the lack of control he's feeling down, body burning hot as if he's feverish and emptying quickly. There is just the pressure there, the suffocating weight on his chest. The knife bounces along Ashur's shoulder, barely a scrape, but the other man turns, swinging hard in retaliation. The punch catches Nasir in the mouth, blood spurting from his split lip, but still he pushes on, fingers desperate and latching onto Ashur's shirt. 

"Give up, Nasir. My master will have his prize." Ashur attempts to shake the other man off, laughing as Nasir sways, eyes fluttering. From his nose, a thick black liquid has started to ooze - one of the effects of the poisoning. 

Dislodging him, Ashur quickly sprints through the open bedroom door and heads towards the nursery. It’s dark inside, only the silver glow from the magic in the crystal mobile giving any light. Malik is still asleep, restless though and twitching on his back. Nasir’s shoulder slams into the doorway as he stumbles forward, watching in horror as Ashur reaches into the cradle. 

"No!" 

Nasir springs into action, half running half falling into the room. He manages this time to twist the knife in his hand, slamming the blade into Ashur's side and knocking him from his perch. The blade sticks, blood rushing out from the deep wound. With a shout, Ashur turns on him, striking Nasir in the chest with the flat of his palm. It's instantly effective, knocking the wind from Nasir's chest and pushing him down on his knees. 

Inside the crib, Malik wakes with a start from the loud noise, giving out a terrified wail. He continues crying, little arms waving in the air as he cranes his neck around searching for his parents. Through the twig bars, he spots Nasir where he’s crumbled by the changing table, blood oozing from his face, and Malik lets out a new sound – high screaming mixed with tears.

"You are finished." Ashur snarls, slowly pulling the knife from his flank. Blood pours from it, but Ashur can do nothing to stop it, tossing the blade away. "Malik is mine and soon, vampires will be running all through this castle. You've lost before you even knew the battle you fought."

Nasir had landed on his side again, mostly rolled onto his stomach. Through his haze, he can barely focus on the words Ashur is spewing to him. Instead, he watches the dark shadows just inside the master bedroom, Apep's head peaking out into the nursery. 

_Please_ Nasir sends all of his magic, everything he has left, to gasp the words in Pythonissan. _Protect my son._

Raising his head from the ground, Apep's tongue scents the air and he hisses softly, fangs glinting as he recognizes the dangers looming in the room and beyond. He turns to stare at Nasir, unwavering, and then he begins to change. In Pythonissan lore, there were warriors given to Alkhaliq that guarded him and his children at all times. They were powerful beings, half snake and half man like their master, standing on hind legs with human arms and hands, with skin covered in milky white scales. The whole bodies were engraved in Pythonissan spells and magic, immortal and killers only for their king. Their heads were always of snakes, towering huge at seven feet with black unblinking eyes and fangs longer than a man's forearm. Nasir watches as Apep grows into one of them, his body looming in the doorway just behind Ashur's shoulder. 

"Protect Malik," Nasir sobs, the black tar from his nose now coating his neck too. 

With a loud hiss, Apep grips the back of Ashur's shirt, lifting and tossing him against the wall, away from the cradle. The move is easy enough for him, stepping into the main room now and blocking the nursery door. Ashur screams when he sees him, scrambling up from where he had collapsed against the stones, vanity mirror shattered. True fear widens his eyes, remembering the legends from before, the terror of these mighty warriors. He turns to Nasir with a snarl, blood still pouring from his side. 

"Do not think you are safe, Nasir. He is coming. He's already here. And he will take you and your bastard too." 

With that, Ashur runs towards the suite doors and throws the open, fleeing as quickly as he can down the hallway. From inside the castle, screams of terror have started as vampires descend upon the palace, killing anyone they cross paths with. They are not searching, per say, but playing with their food. In the room, Apep lowers himself to help pull up Nasir, but he stops him with a hand to his scaly chest. 

"Go find Pietros." Nasir mumbles, eyes drooping as more black eases down around his mouth. Apep eyes him, large tongue slipping out to gently press to Nasir's streaked face. He rises after a moment, reaching into the cradle and handing the still screaming Malik down into Nasir’s waiting arms before he turns towards the door, moving into the dark. 

\- - - 

"Do you hear that?" Lifting his head from his pillow, Duro turns his head towards the door. In the dark, his eyes glow an eerie shade of gold. 

"Hear what?" Barca is sitting in a chair in the corner, a book perched across his lap. Leaning back against his legs, Pietros too has a book, though he doesn't look up from it. 

"I heard screaming." It is a task for him to get up, Duro sitting and then sliding towards the end of the bed. Auctus is quick to catch him though, hands warm on Duro's shoulders. 

"It was probably the wind. You need to rest, Duro."

"I heard something though. Can you just check out the window?" Duro holds the blankets up against his bare chest. 

"It is nothing." Auctus tries to rub his back, but Duro turns, eyes big and begging. 

"Please. I could have sworn I heard it."

Sighing, Auctus slides off the bed and heads towards the nearest window, the one overlooking the gardens and then out into the town. He means to just glance out, to reassure himself and Duro that he's wrong, but something catches his eye. There, by the fountain in the center of the garden, a hunched figure lingers over another. It is clear from the way that they're situated that they must be kissing, though the hunched one is extremely still while the one on its back keeps wiggling. Auctus leans forward against the glass, trying to see better, when the one on top suddenly pulls away, revealing itself. Blood pours down its front, the snow and the corpse below stained with it. Then, from the dark, other figures emerge, at least a dozen as vampires suddenly come pouring over the garden wall. 

"Oh my god," Auctus backs up half a step, horror written on his face. “Vampires! They’re attacking the castle!”

“Ha ha. Very amusing,” Barca flips a page in his book. 

“I’m fucking serious.” Auctus moves across the room towards his armor, quickly lifting and buckling his sword belt around his waist. Duro struggles to his feet, frowning deeply as he hobbles towards the windows. 

“Auctus-“ Duro gasps, face slowly draining of color. “Is that-“

“Barca get your sword.” Auctus barks, shoulders tense. “I’m not fucking joking!”

Everyone is startled a moment later as a scream erupts outside of their suite followed quickly by the sound of running feet. Someone else screams, a door opening and slamming shut. It’s echoed a moment later as the bedroom door slams open, denting the wall behind it, Apep looming huge and vicious in the hallway. His face is covered in blood, fangs dripping down onto his chest. 

“What the fuck?” Auctus roars, eyes gleaming violet and feet extending. Barca is right behind him, reaching for his spear at the foot of the bed. They don’t get a chance to charge though as Pietros dashes forward, hands raised before him. 

“Apep?” Pietros gasps in Pythonissan, then turning, he stares at his fiancé’s – eyes huge and mouth gaping. “It’s Nasir. He needs me.”

"Apep as in the snake?" Duro asks, leaning against the wall. 

"He is Alkhaliq's protector." Pietros steps closer to the snake, shaking. "I must leave."

“Go.” Barca eyes the snake warrior before him before turning to the other men in the room. “Auctus, go find Agron if you can. I will try to locate as many guards as I can and come back to barricade the royal house in the consort’s suite.”

“What should I do?” Duro asks, staggering towards the other men. 

"You must stay here and hide." Auctus gently but firmly pushes Duro towards the bed. 

"I will not! I am a prince! These are my people. I want to fight." Duro stumbles a little, grasping the bedpost of the bed. 

"Duro! Stay here!" 

Auctus shouts the order, reaching forward to grip the back of his neck, kissing him roughly before the group quickly turns towards the door and disappears into the hallway. 

\- - - 

Curled close to his chest, Nasir gently rocks Malik back and forth. The baby is still sniffling, whimpering and wrapping his fingers tightly in Nasir's hair. Outside their room, screams of terror and pain fill the castle. There is death everywhere, blood and carnage. Nasir feels as if part of himself is dying, cradling Malik as tight as he can, trying to breathe through his own tears. 

There is the sound of scrambling feet in the main suite, the sound of Nasir's name, until Pietros is suddenly in the doorway, Apep lingering just behind, Duro there as well - looking pale and horrified. Pietros skids along the stones when he dashes forward, holding Nasir's hands between his hands. 

"What has happened?" Pietros sobs, fingers wiping at the oozing black from Nasir's lip. 

"Pietros," Nasir's voice is weak, faint as he fights to stay awake. 

"What has he done? Was this Ashur?" Pietros asks, ripping his own cloak to wipe at Nasir's face. 

"You need to take Malik. You need to hide." Nasir gasps, pushing his baby back, his own sob broken as Malik tries to wiggle back into his arms. 

"What? No! We can all hide together. Auctus and Barca are going to go get the others and-" Pietros chokes out, shaking his head. 

"Pietros," Nasir licks his lips, eyes flickering to stare into the other man's. "I need you to take my son and hide him. You have to protect him, okay? I need you to do this."

Pietros shakes his head, choking on his tears now as he tries to fight it. He knows though, can feel the truth even though it feels as if it will eat him from the inside out. Nasir begs him with all that he has, reaching up one hand to gently touch Pietros' cheek. 

"They're coming back for me. He's going to take me Pietros. You can't let him have Malik." Nasir slowly lowers Malik from his chest, pushing him into Pietros' arms. "Please brother. Please protect him."

Pietros cannot fight it, nodding silently as he takes the wailing baby into his arms. Gently, he brushes his fingers over Malik's brow, silencing his cries as magic descends on him, making him sleep. Standing, Pietros motions towards Duro and Apep, leading them to lean against the far wall. He had been here when Nasir had cast the spell on the forest, had breathed old Pythonissan magic into it, and it seems to have worked. Vines and trees brush up from the stones, enveloping the four of them, holding them tightly before drawing back. They sink into the forest painting, Pietros and Malik still openly crying as they freeze into the wall - captured as if they had always been painted there.

\- - - 

All Agron can smell is blood, the walls, the floors, the very air of the castle coated in it. It seems as if every vampire killed only spurs more, descending from the underbelly of the castle and into the halls. He has no time to figure out how they're getting in, only thoughts on fighting his way through the throng. He needs to get upstairs, needs to make sure that Nasir and Malik are safe, that Duro is tucked away in his room away from the nightmare happening around them.

Crixus and Naevia flank either side of him, charging up the long staircase towards left side of the castle. Crixus had heard Agron's screams from inside the room, the vampires having been slaughtered but Agron had been trapped. It was only by chance that the couple had heard him as they were rushing down to aide those soldiers in the courtyard. 

"Press forward," Agron barks, sword slamming through the throat of the nearest vampire. 

Men and women - soldiers and guards - do their best to try and secure the castle. It seems that it is to no avail though. There are too many and the Alptraum were not prepared. They had no idea to expect this, to be prepared for an attack of this magnitude. 

There is a wound on Agron's chest that festers hot and bloody - a wayward. He has no time to care for it, mind focused on the battle at hand and getting upstairs. He had foolishly left Nasir unguarded, unprepared for this sort of attack. He had noticed that there weren't enough guards, he had been suspicious, and yet he had been led into the trap almost as if blind. 

"Watch!" Crixus barks, shoving a shoulder into Agron's side so he'll step and Crixus can impale a dark haired vampire on his sword. The king doesn't even get a chance to reply as another launches itself from the shadows, teeth bared and eyes a flash of crimson. 

"Agron!" Auctus shouts, rounding a corner and skidding to a stop, Barca just behind him. 

"Where is Duro? Pietros?" Agron asks, slamming the butt of his sword over and over into a vampire's face before the monster releases him and Agron cuts his throat. 

"Upstairs with Nasir but we must hurry."

 

Agron doesn't bother replying to the words, focusing instead on sprinting forward to the servant staircase. It's faster and leads directly up, Agron barely breathing as he takes them two at a time. He can hear the others trailing behind him, shouting to one another and trying to keep up. 

The group make their way up to another landing, dashing down the hall and through another fight along the way. The carnage is thinning the higher they climb, but not by much. Agron smashes the skull of a vampire against the wall as both Crixus and Naevia cleaver through the necks with powerful swings of their swords. They work in tandem, both of them skilled and eager to prove it. Auctus and Barca aid too, screaming the whole time. 

Agron cannot fucking think, can't breathe, as he dashes up one more flight of stairs, panting hard. Finally, he slams into the consort's hallway, freezing for just a moment at the terror that lays before him. Guards are slaughtered upon the floor, the blood streaked up the walls in places nearly to the ceiling. Their lifeless eyes stare at the group as they walk forward, some oozing just blood and others whole organs. Duro's door is open a jar, the light inside dark, and Agron motions a hand towards it - instructing Auctus and Barca to go, but they come up empty handed – the room empty.

Just outside the thick doors leading to Nasir's suite, Chadara lays in a pool of blood, her blond hair scattered in a halo and half drenched in crimson. She looks as if she was trying to guard the door when the attack happened. Agron can feel his heart slamming into his chest, panic and desperation making his hands shake as he moves forward. He has to step over her to open the door, choking on his own grief as he shoves into the suite.

Unlike outside, the rooms here are void of any true carnage, though most of the furniture is toppled, an amphora broken on the carpet, a couch over turned, and the bedroom doors thrown wide open. It is clear a fight took place, a few droplets of blood leading from the table in the corner to the master bedroom doors. Agron quickly moves around it, calling out in a broken plea.

"Nasir? Nasir!"

"Agron?" From a doorway, Diona and Bagoas crouch together, arms wrapped around one another. They're both sobbing, turning into loud wails when Naevia goes to them, hugging them close. 

"Nasir! Answer me!"

The first place he runs to is the nursery after finding the bedroom empty, but that too is void of anyone. Panic turns to frenzy as Agron begins to fear the worst, calling out with his magic only for it to fizzle in the air. He tries again and again but the connection is stopped short – almost as if Nasir can’t reply to him. Agron can't even hear Malik crying, toppling the cradle over as he searches around it for his son. Malik should be fucking crying by now, should be here cradled in Nasir’s arms. Agron doesn't fucking understand, turning in circles in the bedroom before movement catches his eye. 

On the far railing of the balcony, Nasir stands - slowly swaying in the cold air. His robe is torn and dirty, a thick trail of blood oozing from a wound on his neck down into the white embroidery. Small scratches line his smooth chest and stomach, scrapes from what Agron can only guess were earned by Nasir crawling over glass. He looks dazed - unlike himself - as another droplet of blood oozes from his slit bottom lip and splatters on the white stones.

"Nasir!" Agron gasps, shoving a chair out of the way as he moves towards the doors.

Nasir's dark eyes snap to him, unable to smile, unable to draw a real breath, only staring as if he's just now realized what is going on. From his nose, a slow dark trail begins to bleed again, black and tar like and he begins to shake.

"Nasir." Agron reaches the balcony doors, inching forward cautiously. Nasir appears as if he'll collapse at any moment, a few stray tears leaking out. "It's okay. I've got you. Step down for me."

"Agron?" Nasir lets out a shuddered gasp, fresh tears beginning to roll down his face. 

“It’s alright. I’m right here.” Agron is halfway now, both arms outreached. “I’m going to keep you safe. Okay?”

“He’s coming,” Nasir chokes, fingers curling at his sides. “He’s coming and he’s going to take me.”

“No one is going to take you.” Agron reassures, so close now he’s nearly touching Nasir’s robe. “I’m right here.”

“He’s already here.” 

Agron means to reply, words forming on the tip of his tongue, but they seem to freeze as a long black shadow slips over the edge of the balcony. It slithers along the stones, immune to the darkness around it as it slowly begins to grow and stand. Agron knows what this is - a messenger from the vampires themselves. It wraps its long fingers over Nasir's shoulders, hoovering behind him and Agron can hear it when Nasir's breath hitches. 

"Don't panic. I've got you." Agron reassures, wrapping one hand in Nasir’s robe. "Reach out for my hand."

Lowering his eyes, Nasir stares down at Agron, watery gaze unwavering. There is no magic between them now, but he still understands what is about to happen, letting a broken little sob slip out as Nasir’s fingers skid along Agron’s jaw. It was a nice dream only a little while ago, that they would be finally happy and safe. 

"Agron!" 

Suddenly, Nasir lets out a cry, hands scrambling to grab hold of the other man. It's too slow though, too weak of an attempt as Nasir is suddenly pulled back, the shadow wrapping around him and tugging him clear off the balcony and towards the trees below before it seems to be called, darting to the left. 

"Nasir! No!" Agron booms, turning back the way he came to rush towards the main gate. He needs to know where the shadow is taking him, needs to stop it before Nasir is lost. 

When he enters the hallway, it seems the fight has reached them. Bodies slam into one another, screams and cries filling the suite. Agron rushes around it, fights only when someone directly attacks them. He can hear Crixus’ mighty roar to the right as he dashes down the hall, the others following him and creating a barrier as much as they can. Agron cannot concentrat3e on them, heart pounding as he fights the urge to fully shift, fangs and claws extended as far as they will go. 

They reach the main hall faster than they had ascended, slamming through the front door and into the gardens below. Nothing could have prepared Agron for the sight before him though – a line of vampires standing still and in formation, their monstrous beasts pawing at the ground. They do not move as Agron skids to a halt, growling deep in his throat as Caesar slowly steps off the back of his chimera. He looks exactly the way Agron remembers him, shock of blond hair and those gleaming blue eyes. Cocking his head, Caesar makes a grand gesture of a bow – the movement mocking and cruel.

“Agron,” Caesar caresses the words as if he’s fond of them, grinning as his eyes move over Agron’s body. “My, you have changed.”

“Where is my husband?” Agron spits through his teeth, fist tightening around his sword. 

“He’s here.” Caesar motions to the side with his hand and two guards step out of the formation of vampires, carrying Nasir by his arms. He isn’t completely passed out, but Nasir’s eyes flutter – weak and lowly deteriorating. 

“Give him back to me or I will-“ Agron’s shoulders roll forward, feeling the hair sprouting along his spine – his wolf nearly screaming inside his head. 

“Now now, Agron.” Caesar moves towards Nasir, slow measured steps as the guards force the smaller man onto his knees. “You haven’t even heard my offer yet, and it has been some time since I’ve seen you. There is no need to be rude.”

“I’m not here to make fucking pleasantries,” Agron shouts, stepping forward only to freeze as one of the guards tilts Nasir’s head back by his hair, allowing Caesar’s blade to suddenly press against it. He crouches down until he’s even with Nasir, sword hand unwavering as Caesar leans in, lapping a trail of blood slowly up the side of Nasir’s cheek. The smaller man shudders, staring over Caesar’s shoulder at Agron, flinching when more guards force the king and the others to his knees as well.

“You must remember your manners, Agron.” Caesar turns, receding with his knife but still lingering close to Nasir’s face, “Someone always gets hurt when you don’t.”

“What do you want?” Agron can feel the heavy press of a sword against the back of his neck, can hear both Naevia and Crixus shifting on their knees too, but he only has eyes for Nasir.

“Many things,” Caesar smiles again, stroking his fingers almost lovingly over Nasir’s brow. “I want to rule. I want a weapon to put me on the worldly throne. And I want you beside me to watch and serve me as my own.”

Agron is slowly putting it all together, the vampires that Ashur ran from, the attacks in the mountains. It was signs that Caesar was coming and yet Agron had foolishly not listened again. 

“You can’t have my son.” Agron growls, gleaming eyes tracking the vampire leader as he rises.

“I don’t want your son.” Caesar shakes his head, moving over until he’s before Agron now, leaning in to whisper his words nearly against the other man’s mouth. “I want all of you. I want your son, your bitch, and you. Sign your kingdom over to your brother and come and join me. We can go back to what was once promised between us. You will rule by my side. Nasir to give us powerful and mighty children. Your son to command my armies.”

“You want me to sit beside you and rule while you use my child as your weapon and my husband as a breeding ground for your monsters?” Agron scoffs, shaking his head. “And if I refuse?”

Caesar hums in delight, grinning manic and wide. “If you refuse my offer, then I will unleash my army down upon you and your people. We will kill every man, woman, and child and when you beg for me to stop. When there is no one left to kill but you. I will come for you and let you watch as my legion slowly descends upon the rest of the world – your son my champion and my tool.”

Leaning forward again, Caesar presses his mouth firmly to Agron’s – teeth clacking in the rough kiss before his wrenches away. “But first, I will send you the head of your precious fucking witch.”

Standing with a flourish of his cloak, Caesar reaches over to grip Nasir by his throat and lift him onto his feet. The vampire army instantly falls into formation, beginning their retreat towards the castle gate as Caesar waves his hand. He drags Nasir across the ground, tossing him easily onto the back of chimera before climbing on as well, wrapping his unnaturally smooth and pale arms around him as the beast raises off the ground a few feet with a powerful press of his wings. Nasir buries his fingers in the monster’s smooth fur, eyes going huge as he stares down at Agron.

“You have until the full moon to decide,” Caesar smirks, leaning his chin over Nasir’s shoulder, “and then we will return.”

He’s gone with a loud whoosh, the chimera rising into the night sky and bolting way into the darkness, Nasir’s voice tampering out as he screams in fear.

The howl that rips from Agron’s throat is not human. It’s a feral roar, the sound echoing out from the castle to ricochet off the buildings below, up through the wind, a scream amplified by the high mountain peaks. Anyone who hears it instantly stops, forced to their knees by the sheer magnitude of pain laced through their king’s cry. Blood courses from Agron’s palm, claws digging into his own flesh as he curls his hand around the torn shred of Nasir’s cloak. The pearly fabric has been stained red afresh - once by Nasir’s and now Agron’s blood.


End file.
